The story of Gösta Berling

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http : //books . google . com/|

A

HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY

BOUGHT WITH

MONEY RECEIVED FROM

LIBRARY FINES

The

Story of Gosta Berling

Translated from the Swedish of
Selma Lagerlof

by

Pauline Bancroft Flach

^

Boston
Little, Brown, and Company

1898

l/YV

A

.5". <i

■i^o coXrj:

^c

<:

DtC 6 1898 i

-S.

BOUND AUG f 1910 ^

Copyright, 1S98,
By Little, Brown, and Company.

All rights reserved.

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.

r

\

^ "7

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

"The Story of Gosta Berling" was published in
Sweden in 1894 and immediately brought its author
into prominence.

The tales are founded on actual occurrences and
depict the life in the province of Varmland at the
beginning of this century. Varmland is a lonely tract
in the southern part of Sweden, and has retained
many of its old customs, while mining is the prin-
cipal industry of its sparse population. It consists of
great stretches of forest, sloping down to long, narrow
lakes, connected by rivers.

Miss Lagerlof has grown up in the midst of the
wild legends of her country, and, deeply imbued with
their spirit, interprets them with a living force all
her own.

Her efforts have been materially encouraged by
the Crown Prince of Sweden, and there is every
reason to expect that her genius has not reached its
fullest development.

Stockholm, May, 1898.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION:

Chaptbr Pagb

I The Priest i

II The Beggar 12

PART I

I The Landscape 29

II Christmas Eve 34

III Christmas Day 49

IV Gosta Berling, Poet 63

V La Cachucha 79

VI The Ball at Ekeby 84

VII The Old Vehicles 106

VIII The Great Bear in Gurlitta Cliff ... 122

IX The Auction at Bjorne 138

X The Young Countess 170

XI Ghost-Stories 199

XII Ebba Dohna's Story 214

XIII Mamsellb Marie 236

PART II

I Cousin Christopher 247

II The Paths of Life 253

III Penitence 268

IV The Iron from Ekeby 280

viii CONTENTS.

Chapter Page

V Lilliecrona's Home 291

VI The Witch of Dovre 298

VII Midsummer 304

VIII Madame Musica 309

IX The Broby Clergyman 315

X Patron Julius 321

XI The Plaster Saints 329

XII God's Wayfarer 337

XIII The Churchyard 350

XIV Old Songs 355

XV Death, the Deliverer 367

XVI The Drought 374

XVII The Child's Mother 386

XVIII Amor vincit Omnia 396

XIX The Broom-Girl 403

XX Kevenhuller 417

XXI The Broby Fair 429

XXII The Forest Cottage 438

XXIII Margareta Celsing ^ . . • 456

The Story of Gosta Berling

INTRODUCTION
I

THE PRIEST

At last the minister stood in the pulpit. The heads
of the congfregation were lifted. Well, there he finally
was. There would be no default this Sunday, as on
the last and on many other Sundays before.

The minister was young, tall, slender, and strik-
ingly handsome. With a helmet on his head, and girt
'with sword and shirt of mail, he could have been cut
in marble and taken for an ideal of Grecian beauty.

He had a poet's deep eyes, and a general's firm,
rounded chin; everything about him was beautiful,
noble, full of feeling, glowing with genius and spirit-
ual life.

The people in the church felt themselves strangely
subdued to see him so. They were more used to
see him come reeling out of the public house with
his good friends, Beerencreutz, the Colonel with the
thick, white moustaches, and the stalwart Captain
Christian Bergh.

He had drunk so deeply that he had not been able
to attend to his duties for many weeks, and the con-

2 INTRODUCTION

gregation had been obliged to complain, first to the
dean, and then to the bishop and the chapters. Now
the bishop had come to the parish to make a strict
inquiry. He sat in the choir with the gold cross on
his breast ; the clergymen of the neighboring parishes
sat round about him.

There was no doubt that the minister's conduct had
gone beyond the permissible limit. At that time, in
the twenties, much in the matter of drinking was over-
looked, but this man had deserted his post for the
sake of drink, and now must lose it.

He stood in the pulpit and waited while the last
verse of the psalm was sung.

A feeling came over him as he stood there, that he
had only enemies in the church, enemies in all the
seats. Among the gentry in the pews, among the
peasants in the farther seats, among the little boys
in the choir, he had enemies, none but enemies. It
was an enemy who worked the organ-bellows, an
enemy who played. In the churchwardens' pews he
had enemies. They all hated him, every one, — from
the children in arms, who were carried into the
church, to the sexton, a formal and stiff old soldier,
who had been at Leipsic.

He longed to throw himself on his knees and to
beg for mercy.

But a moment after, a dull rage came over him.
He remembered well what he had been when, a year
ago, he first stood in this pulpit. He was then a
blameless man, and now he stood there and looked
down on the man with the gold cross on his breast,
who had come to pass sentence on him.

While he read the introduction, wave after wave of
blood surged up in his face, — it was rage.

INTRODUCTION 3

It was true enough that he had drunk, but who
had a right to blame him for that? Had they seen
the vicarage where he had to live? Pine forests grew
dark and gloomy close up to his windows. The
dampness dripped from the black roofs and ran down
the mouldy walls. Was not brandy needed to keep
the spirits up when rain and driving snow streamed
in through the broken panes, when the neglected
earth would not give bread enough to keep hunger
away?

He thought that he was just such a minister as
they deserved. For they all drank. Why should he
alone control himself? The man who had buried
his wife got drunk at the funeral feast; the father
who had baptized his child had a carouse afterwards.
The congregation drank on the way back from church,
so that most of them were drunk when they reached
home. A drunken priest was good enough for them.

It was on his pastoral visits, when he drove in his
thin cloak over miles of frozen seas, where all the icy
winds met, it was when his boat was tossed about on
these same seas in storm and pouring rain, it was
when he must climb out of his sledge in blinding
snow to clear the way for his horse through drifts
high as houses, or when he waded through the forest
swamps, — it was then that he learned to love brandy.

The year had dragged itself out in heavy gloom.
Peasant and master had passed their days with their
thoughts on the soil, but at evening their spirits cast
off their yokes, freed by brandy. Inspiration came,
the heart grew warm, life became glowing, the song
rang out, roses shed their perfume. The public-house
bar-room seemed to him a tropical garden: grapes
and olives hung down over his head, marble statues

4 INTRODUCTION

shone among dark leaves, songsters and poets wan-
dered under the palms and plane-trees.

No, he, the priest, up there in the pulpit, knew
that without brandy life could not be borne in this end
of the world; all his congregation knew that, and yet
they wished to judge him.

They wished to tear his vestments from him, be-
cause he had come drunken into God's house. Oh,
all these people, had they believed, did they want
to believe, that they had any other God than
brandy?

He had finished the exordium, and he kneeled to
say the Lord's Prayer.

There was a breathless silence in the church during
the prayer. But suddenly the minister with both
hands caught hold of the ribbons which held his sur-
plice. It seemed to him as if the whole congregation,
with the bishop at the head, were stealing up the pul-
pit steps to take his bands from him. He was kneel-
ing and his head was turned away, but he could feel
how they were dragging, and he saw them so plainly,
the bishop and the deans, the clergymen, the church-
wardens, the sexton, and the whole assemblage in a
long line, tearing and straining to get his surplice off.
And he could picture to himself how all these people
who were dragging so eagerly would fall over one
another down the steps when the bands gave way,
and the whole row of them below, who had not got
up as far as his cape, but only to the skirts of his coat,
would also fall. ,

He saw it all so plainly that he had to smile as he
knelt, but at the same time a cold sweat broke out on
his forehead. The whole thing was too horrible.

That he should now become a dishonored man for

INTRODUCTION 5

the sake of brandy. A clergyman, dismissed ! Was
there anything on God's earth more wretched ?

He should be one of the beggars at the roadside,
lie drunk at the edge of a ditch, go dressed in rags,
with vagrants for companions.

The prayer was ended. He should read his sermon.
Then a thought came to him and checked the words
on his lips. He thought that it was the last time he
should stand in the pulpit and proclaim the glory of
God.

For the last time — that took hold of him. He for-
got the brandy and the bishop. He thought that he
must use the chance, and testify to the glory of
God.

He thought that the floor of the church with all
his hearers sank deep, deep down, and the roof was
lifted off, so that he saw far into the sky. He stood
alone, quite alone in his pulpit; his spirit took its
flight to the heavens opened above him ; his voice be-
came strong and powerful, and he proclaimed the
glory of God.

He was inspired. He left: what he had written;
thoughts came to him like a flock of tame doves. He
felt, as if it were not he who spoke, but he felt too
that it was the best earth had to give, and that no
one could reach a greater height of brilliancy and
splendor than he who stood there and proclaimed
the glory of God.

As long as the flame of inspiration burned in him
he continued to speak, but when it died out, and the
roof sank down over the church, and the floor came
up again from far, far below, he bowed his head and
wept, for he^ thought that the best of life, for him, was
now over.

6 INTRODUCTION

After the service came the inspection and the ves-
try meeting. The bishop asked if the congregation
had any complaints to make against their clergyman.

The minister was no longer angry and defiant as
before the sermon. Now he was ashamed and hung
his head. Oh, all the miserable brandy stories, which
were coming now !

But none came. There was a deep silence about
the long table in the parish-hall.

The minister looked first at the sexton, — no, he was
silent ; then at the churchwardens, then at the power-
ful peasants and mine-owners; they were all silent.
They sat with their lips pressed close together and
looked embarrassed down on the table.

"They are waiting for somebody to begin," thought
the minister.

One of the churchwardens cleared his throat.

" I think we 've got a fine minister," he said.

" Your Reverence has heard how he preaches," in-
terrupted the sexton.

The bishop spoke of repeated absences.

"The minister has the right to be ill, as well as
another," was the peasants' opinion.

The bishop hinted at their dissatisfaction with the
minister's mode of life.

They defended him with one voice. He was so
young, their minister; there was nothing wrong
with him. No ; if he would only always preach as he
had done to-day they would not exchange him for
the bishop himself.

There were no accusers ; there could be no judge.

The minister felt how his heart swelled and how
swiftly the blood flew through his veihs. Could it
be that he was no longer among enemies; that he

INTRODUCTION 7

had won them over when he had least thought of it ;
that he should still be their priest?

After the inspection the bishop and the clergymen
of the neighborhood and the deans and the chief
men of the parish dined at the vicarage. The wife
of one of the neighbors had taken charge of the
dinner; for the minister was not married. She had
arranged it all so well that it made him open his eyes,
for the vicarage was not so dreadful. The long
dining-table was spread out under the pines and
shone with its white cloth, with its blue and white
china, its glittering glass and folded napkins. Two
birches bent over the door, the floor of the entry was
strewn with rushes, a wreath of flowers hung from
the rafters, there were flowers in all the rooms ; the
mouldy smell was gone, and the green window-panes
shone bravely in the sunshine.

He was glad to the bottom of his heart, the min-
ister ; he thought that he would never drink again.

There was not one who was not glad at that dinner-
table. Those who had been generous and had for-
given were glad, and the priests in authority were
glad because they had escaped a scandal.

The good bishop raised his glass and said that he
had started on this journey with a heavy heart, for
he had heard many evil rumors. He had gone forth
to meet Saul, but lo, Saul was already changed to a
Paul, who should accomplish more than any of them.
And the worthy man spoke of the rich gifts which
their young brother possessed, and praised them.
Not that he should be proud, but that he should
strain every nerve and keep a close watch over him-
self, as he must do who bears an exceedingly heavy
and costly burden on his shoulders.

8 INTRODUCTION

The minister was not drunk at that dinner, but he
was intoxicated. All this great unlooked-for happi-
ness went to his head. Heaven had let the flame of
inspiration burn in him, and these people had given
him their love. His blood was at fever heat, and at
raging speed rushed through his veins still when the
evening came and his guests departed. Far into the
night he sat awake in his room, and let the night air
stream in through the open window to cool this fever
of happiness, this pleasant restlessness which would
not let him sleep.

He heard a voice.

"Are you awake?"

A man came over the lawn up to the window. The
minister looked out and recognized Captain Christian
Bergh, one of his trusty boon-companions. He was
a wayfarer without house or land, this Captain Bergh,
and a giant in stature and strength ; big was he as
Goliath, malicious and stupid as a mountain goblin.

" Of course I am up, Captain Christian," answered
the minister. " Do you think I could sleep to-night? "

And hear now what this Captain Bergh says to
him ! The giant had guessed, he had understood,
that the minister would now be afraid to drink. He
would never have any peace, thought Captain Chris-
tian ; for those priests from Karlstad, who had been
here once, could come again and take his surplice
from him if he drank.

But now Captain Christian had put his heavy hand
to the good work ; now he had arranged that those
priests never should come agaio, neither they nor
the bishop. Henceforth the minister and his friends
could drink as much as they liked at the vicarage.

Hear what a deed he had done, he, Christian

INTRODUCTION 9

Bergh, the mighty Captain. When the bishop and
the two deans had climbed into their closed carriage,
and the doors had been shut tight on them, then he
had mounted on the box and driven them ten miles
or so in the light summer night.

And then had Christian Bergh taught the reverend
gentlemen how loose life sits in the human body.
He had let the horses run at the maddest pace. That
was because they would not let an honorable man get
drunk in peace.

Do you suppose he followed the road with them ;
do you believe he saved them from jolts ? He drove
over ditches and ploughed fields ; he drove in a dizzy
gallop down the hills ; he drove along the water's edge,
till the waves covered the wheels ; he almost stuck in
a bog; he drove down over bare rocks, where the
horses slid with legs held stiff.

And all the time the bishop and the priests sat
with blanched faces behind the leather curtains and
murmured prayers. It was the worst journey they
had ever made.

And think how they must have looked when they
came to Rissater's inn, living, but shaken like shot in
a leather pouch.

"What does this mean, Captain Christian?'* says
the bishop, as he opens the door for them.

** It means that you shall think twice, bishop, before
you make a new journey of inspection to Gosta Ber-
ling," says Captain Christian ; and he had thought
that sentence well out beforehand, so as not to get it
wrong.

" Tell Gosta Berling," says the bishop, " that to
him neither I nor any other bishop will ever come
again."

lO INTRODUCTION

This exploit the mighty Captain Christian stands
and relates at the open window in the summer night.
For Captain Christian has only just left the horses at
the inn, and has come directly to the minister with
his news.

" Now you can be at rest, comrade," he says.

Ah, Captain Christian, the clergymen sat with pale
faces behind the leather curtains, but the priest at
the window looks in the bright summer night far, far
paler. Ah, Captain Christian !

The minister raised his arm and measured a terrible
blow at the giant's coarse, stupid face, but checked
himself He shut the window with a bang, and stood
in the middle of the room, shaking his clenched fist
on high.

He in whom the fire of inspiration had flamed, he
who had been able to proclaim the glory of God,
stood there and thought that God had made a fool
of him.

Would not the bishop believe that Captain Chris-
tian had been sent by the minister? Would he not
believe that he had dissembled and lied the whole
day? Now he would investigate everything about
him in earnest; now he would suspend him and
dismiss him.

When the dawn broke the minister was far from
his home. He did not care to stay and defend him-
self God had mocked at him. God would not help
him. He knew that he would be dismissed. God
would have it. He might as well go at once.

All this happened in the beginning of the twenties
in a far-a-way parish in Western Varmland.

It was the first misfortune which befell Gosta Ber-
ling ; it was not the last.

\

INTRODUCTION II

For colts who cannot bear spur or whips find life
hard. For every pain which comes to them they
bolt down wild ways to yawning chasms. As soon
as the road is stony and the way hard they know no
other remedy than to cast off their load and rush
away in frenzy.

12 INTRODUCTION

II

THE BEGGAR

One cold December day a beggar came wandering
up the slopes of Broby. He was dressed in the
most miserable rags, and his shoes were so worn that
the cold snow wet his feet.

Lofven is a long, narrow lake in Varmland, inter-
sected in several places by long narrow sounds. In the
north it stretches up to the Finn forests, in the south
down to the lake Vaner. There are many parishes
along its shores, but the parish of Bro is the largest
and richest. It takes up a large part of the lake's
shores both on the east and west sides, but on the
west side are the largest estates, such as Ekeby and
Bjorne, known far and wide for wealth and beauty,
and Broby, with its large village and inn, court-
house, sheriff-quarters, vicarage, and market-place.

Broby lies on a steep slope. The beggar had
come past the inn, which lies at the foot of the hill,
and was struggling up towards the parsonage, which
lies at the top.

A little girl went in front of him up the hill ; she
dragged a sledge laden with a bag of meal. The
beggar caught up with the child and began to talk
to her.

"A little horse for such a heavy load," he said.

The child turned and looked at him. She was a

INTRODUCTION 13

little creature about twelve years old, with sharp,
suspicious eyes, and lips pressed together.

"Would to God the horse was smaller and the
load larger; it might last longer," answered the
girl.

"Is it then your own food you are dragging
home?''

" By God's grace it is ; I have to get my own food,
although I am so little."

The beggar seized the sled rope to drag it up.

The girl turned and looked at him.

"You needn't think that you will get anything
for this," she said.

The beggar laughed.

" You must be the daughter of the Broby clergy-
man."

** Yes, yes, I am indeed. Many have poorer fathers,
but none have worse. That's the Lord's truth, al-
though it's a shame that his own child should have
to say it."

" I hear he is mean and ill-natured, your father."

"Mean he is, and ill-natured he is, but they say
his daughter will be worse if she lives so long ; that 's
what people say."

" I fancy people are right. What I would like to
know is, where you found this meal-bag."

" It makes no difference if I tell you. I took the
grain out of father's store-house this morning, and
now I have been to the mill."

" May he not see you when you come dragging it
behind you?"

" You have left school too early. Father is away
on his parish visits, can't you see?"

" Somebody is driving up the hill behind us ; I

14 INTRODUCTION

hear the creaking of the runners. Think if it were
he who is coming ! "

The girl listened and peered down, then she burst
into tears.

" It is father," she sobbed. " He will kill me ! He
will kill me ! "

" Yes, good advice is now precious, and prompt
advice better than silver and gold," said the beggar.

" Look here," said the child, " you can help me.
Take the rope and drag the sledge ; then father will
believe it is yours."

" What shall I do with it afterwards ? " asked the
beggar, and put the rope round his shoulders.

"Take it where you like for the moment, but
come up to the parsonage with it when it is dark.
I shall be looking out for you. You are to come
with the bag and the sledge, you understand."

" I shall try."

" God help you if you don't come ! " called the
girl, while she ran, hurrying to get home before her
father.

The beggar turned the sledge with a heavy heart
and dragged it down to the inn.

The poor fellow had had his dream, as he went in
the snow with half-naked feet. He had thought of
the great woods north of lake Lofven, of the great
Finn forests.

Here in the parish of Bro, where he was now
wandering along the sound which connects the upper
and lower Lofven, — in this rich and smiling country,
where one estate joins another, factory lies near fac-
tory, — here all the roads seemed to him too heavy,
the rooms too small, the beds too hard. Here he
longed for the peace of the great, eternal forests.

INTRODUCTION 1 5

Here he heard the blows echoing in all the barns
as they threshed out the grain. Loads of timber and
charcoal-vans kept coming down from the inexhaust-
ible forests. Endless loads of metal followed the
deep ruts which the hundreds gone before had cut.
Here he saw sleighs filled with travellers speed from
house to house, and it seemed to him as if pleasure
held the reins, and beauty and love stood on the
runners. Oh, how he longed for the peace of the
forest

There the trees rise straight and pillarlike from
the even ground, there the snow rests in heavy layers
on the motionless pines, there the wind is powerless
and only plays softly in the topmost leaves, there he
would wander deeper and still farther in, until at last
his strength would fail him, and he would drop under
the great trees, dying of hunger and cold.

He longed for the great murmuring grave above
the Lofven, where he would be overcome by the
powers^ of annihilation, where at last hunger, cold,
fatigue, and brandy should succeed in destroying his
poor body, which had endured everything.

He came down to the inn to await the evening.
He went into the bar-rooiii and threw himself down
on a bench by the door, dreaming of the eternal
forests.

The innkeeper's wife felt sorry for him and gave
him a glass of brandy. She even gave him another,
he implored her so eagerly.

But more she would not give him, and the beggar
was in despair. He must have more of the strong,
sweet brandy. He must once again feel his heart
dance in his body and his thoughts flame up in in-
toxication. Oh, that sweet spirit of the corn !

1 6 • INTRODUCTION

The summer sun, the song of the birds, perfume
and beauty floated in its white wave. Once more,
before he disappears into the night and the darkness,
let him drink sunshine and happiness.

So he bartered first the meal, then the meal-sack,
and last the sledge, for brandy. On it he got thor-
oughly drunk, and slept the greater part of the after-
noon on a bench in the bar-room.

When he awoke he understood that there was left
for him only one thing to do. Since his miserable
body had taken possession of his soul, since he had
been capable of drinking up what a child had con-
fided to him, since he was a disgrace to the earth, he
must free it of the burden of such wretchedness. He
must give his soul its liberty, let it go to its God.

He lay on the bench in the bar-room and passed
sentence on himself: ** Gosta Berling, dismissed priest,
accused of having drunk up the food of a hungry
child, is condemned to death. What death? Death
in the snow-drifts."

He seized his cap and reeled out. He was neither
quite awake nor quite sober. He wept in pity for
himself, for his poor, soiled soul, which he must set
free.

He did not go far, and did not turn from the road.
At the very roadside lay a deep drift, and there he
threw himself down to die. He closed his eyes and
tried to sleep.

No one knows how long he lay there ; but there
was still life in him when the daughter of the minister
of Broby came running along the road with a lantern
in her hand, and found him in the drift by the road-
side. She had stood for hours and waited for him ;
now she had run down Broby hill to look for him.

INTRODUCTION \J

She recognized him instantly, and she began to
shake him and to scream with all her might to get
him awake.

She must know what he had done with her meal-
bag.

She must call him back to life, at least for so long a
time that he could tell her what had become of her
sledge and her meal-bag. Her father would kill her
if she had lost his sledge. She bit the beggar's fin-
ger and scratched his face, and at the same time she
screamed madly.

Then some one came driving along the road.

" Who the devil is screaming so ? " asked a harsh
voice.

" I want to know what this fellow has done with my
meal-bag and my sledge," sobbed the child, and beat
with clenched fists on the beggar's breast.

" Are you clawing a frozen man? Away with you,
wild-cat ! "

The traveller was a large and coarse woman. She
got out of the sleigh and came over to the drift. She
took the child by the back of the neck and threw her
on one side. Then she leaned over, thrust her arms
under the beggar's body, and lifted him up. Then
she carried him to the sleigh and laid him in it.

" Come with me to the inn, wild-cat," she called to
the child, " that we may hear what. you know of all
this."

An hour later the beggar sat on a chair by the
door in the best room of the inn, and in front of him
stood the powerful woman who had rescued him
from the drift.

Just as Gosta Berling now saw her, on her way

1 8 INTRODUCTION

home from the charcoal kilns, with sooty hands, and
a clay-pipe in her mouth, dressed in a short, unlined
sheepskin jacket and striped homespun skirt, with
tarred shoes on her feet and a sheath-knife in her
bosom, as he saw her with gray hair combed back
from an old, beautiful face, so had he heard her de-
scribed a thousand times, and he knew that he had
come across the far-famed major's wife of Ekeby.

She was the most influential woman in all Varm-
land, mistress of seven iron-works, accustomed to
command and to be obeyed ; and he was only a poor,
condemned man, stripped of everything, knowing that
every road was too heavy for him, every room too
crowded. His body shook with terror, while her
glance rested on him.

She stood silent and looked at the human wretch-
edness before her, the red, swollen hands, the ema-
ciated form, and the splendid head, which even in its
ruin and neglect shone in wild beauty.

** You are Gosta Berling, the mad priest? '* she said,
peering at him.

The beggar sat motionless.

" I am the mistress of Ekeby."

A shudder passed over the beggar's body. He
clasped his hands and raised his eyes with a longing
glance. What would she do with him ? Would she
force him to live? He shook before her strength.
And yet he had so nearly reached the peace of the
eternal forests.

She began the struggle by telling him the minister's
daughter had got her sledge and her meal-sack again,
and that she, the major's wife, had a shelter for him
as for so many other homeless wretches in the bach-
elor's wing at Ekeby.

INTRODUCTION 19

She offered him a life of idleness and pleasure, but
he answered he must die.

Then she struck the table with her clenched fist
and let him hear what she thought of him.

" So you want to die, that 's what you want. That
would not surprise me, if you were alive. Look, such
a wasted body and such' powerless limbs and such
dull eyes, and you think that there is something left
of you to die. Do you think that you have to lie
stiff and stark with a coffin-lid nailed down over you
to be dead ? Don't you believe that I stand here and
see how dead you are, Gosta Berling?

" I see that you have a skull for a head, and it seems
to me as if the worms were creeping out of the
sockets of your eyes. Do you not feel that your
mouth is full of dust? Do you not hear how your
bones rattle when you move?

** You have drowned yourself in brandy, Gosta Ber-
ling, and you are dead.

"That which now moves in you is only death
spasms, and you will not allow them to live, if you call
that life. It is just as if you grudged the dead a dance
over the graves in the star-light.

" Are you ashamed that you were dismissed, since
you wish to die now? It would have been more to
your honor had you made use of your gifts and been
of some use on God's green earth, I tell you. Why
did you not come directly to me? I should have
arranged everything for you. Yes, now you ex-
pect much glory from being wrapped in a winding-
sheet and laid on saw-dust and called a beautiful
corpse."

The beggar sat calm, almost smiling, while she
thundered out her angry words. There was no danger,

20 INTRODUCTION

he rejoiced, no danger. The eternal forests wait, and
she has no power to turn thy soul from them.

But the major's wife was silent and walked a couple
of times up and down the room ; then she took a seat
before the fire, put her feet on the fender, and leaned
her elbows on her knees.

"Thousand devils !" she said, and laughed softly to
herself. " It is truer, what I am saying, than I myself
thought. Pon*t you believe, Gosta Berling, that most
of the people in this world are dead or half-dead ?
Do you think that I am aUve ? No ! No, indeed !

*' Yes, look at me ! I am the mistress of Ekeby, and
I am the most powerful in Varmland. If I wave one
finger the governor comes, if I wave with two the
bishop comes, and if I wave with three all the chapter
and the aldermen and mine-owners in Varmland dance
to my music in Karlstad's market-place. A thousand
devils ! Boy, I tell you that I am only a dressed-up
corpse. God knows how little life there is in me."

The beggar leaned forward on his chair and listened
with strained attention. The old woman sat and
rocked before the fire. She did not look at him, while
she talked.

" Don't you know," she continued, " that if I were
a living being, and saw you sitting there, wretched and
deplorable with suicidal thoughts, don't you believe
that I should take them out of you in a second ? I
should have tears for you and prayers, which would
turn you upside down, and I should save your soul ;
but now I am dead.

"Have you heard that I once was the beautiful
Margareta Celsing? That was not yesterday, but I
can still sit and weep my old eyes red for her. Why
shall Margareta Celsing be dead, and Margareta

INTRODUCTION 2i

Samzelius live? Why shall the major's wife at Ekebjr
live ? — tell me that, Gosta Berling.

"Do you know what Margareta Celsing was like?
She was slender and delicate and modest and innocent,
Gosta Berling. She was one over whose grave
angels weep.

" She knew nothing of evil, no one had ever given
her pain, she was good to all. And she was beautiful,
really beautiful.

" There was a man, his name was Altringer. God
knows how he happened to be travelling up there in
Alfdal wildernesses, where her parents had their iron-
works. Margareta Celsing saw him ; he was a hand-
some man, and she loved him.

" But he was poor, and they agreed to wait for one
another five years, as it is in the legend. When three
years had passed another suitor came. He was ugly
and bad, but her parents believed that he was rich,
and they forced Margareta Celsing, by fair means and
foul, by blows and hard words, to take him for her hus-
band. And that day, you see, Margareta Celsing died.

" After that there was no Margareta Celsing, only
Major Samzelius's wife, and she was not good nor
modest ; she believed in much evil and never thought
of the good.

" You know well enough what happened afterwards.
We lived at Sjo by the Lake Lofven, the major and I.
But he was not rich, as people had said. I often had
hard days.

" Then Altringer came again, and now he was rich.
He became master of Ekeby, which lies next to Sjo ;
he made himself master of six other estates by Lake
Lofven. He was able, thrifty; he was a man of
mark.

22 INTRODUCTION

" He helped us in our poverty ; we drove in his
carriages ; he sent food to our kitchen, wine to our
cellar. He filled my life with feasting and pleasure.
The major went off to the wars, but what did we care
for that? One day I was a guest at Ekeby, the next
he came to Sjo. Oh, it was like a long dance of
delight on Lofven's shores.

" But there was evil talk of Altringer and me. If
Margareta Celsing had been living, it would have
given her much pain, but it made no difference to me.
But as yet I did not understand that it was because I
was dead that I had no feeling.

"At last the tales of us reached my father and
mother, as they went among the charcoal kilns up in
Alfdal's forest. My mother did not stop to think;
she travelled hither to talk to me.

" One day, when the major was away and I sat dining
with Altringer and several others, she arrived. I saw
her come into the room, but I could not feel that she
was my mother, Gosta Berling. I greeted her as a
stranger, and invited her to sit down at my table and
take part in the meal.

" She wished to talk with me, as if I had been her
daughter, but I said to her that she was mistaken,
that my parents were dead, they had both died on my
wedding day.

" Then she agreed to the comedy. She was sixty
years old ; a hundred and twenty miles had she driven
in three days. Now she sat without ceremony at the
dinner-table and ate her food ; she was a strong and
capable woman.

" She said that it was very sad that I had had such a
loss just on that day.

" * The saddest thing was,' I said, * that my parents

INTRODUCTION 2%

did not die a day sooner ; then the wedding would
never have taken place/

" ' Is not the gracious lady pleased with her mar-
riage?' she then asked.

" * Oh, yes/ said I, ' I am pleased. I shall always
be pleased to obey my dear parents' wish ! '

" She asked if it had been my parents' wish that I
should heap shame upon myself and them and deceive
my husband. I did my parents little honor by mak-
ing myself a byword in every man's mouth.

" ' They must lie as they have made their bed/ I
answered her. And morever I wished her to under-
stand, that I did not intend to allow any one to calum-
niate my parents' daughter.

•* We ate, we two. The men about us sat silent and
could not lift knife nor fork.

" She stayed a day to rest, then she went But all
the time I saw her, I could not understand that she
was my mother. I only knew that my mother was
dead.

" When she was ready to leave, Gosta Berling, and I
stood beside her on the steps, and the carriage was
before the door, she said to me : —

" ' Twenty-four hours have I been here, without your
greeting me as your mother. By lonely roads I came
here, a hundred and twenty miles in three days. And
for shame for you my body is trembling, as if it had
been beaten with rods. May you be disowned, as I
have been disowned, repudiated as I have been repu-
diated ! May the highway be your home, the hay-
stack your bed, the charcoal-kiln your stove ! May
shame and dishonor be your reward ; may others strike
you, as I strike you ! '

" And she gave me a heavy blow on the cheek.

24 INTRODUCTION

" But I lifted her up, carried her down the steps, and
put her in her carriage.

" * Who are you, that you curse me? ' I asked ; * who
are you that you strike me ? That I will suffer from
no one/

" And I gave her the blow again.

*' The carriage drove away, but then, at that moment,
Gosta Berling, I knew that Margareta Celsing was
dead.

'* She was good and innocent ; she knew no evil.
Angels had wept at her grave. If she had lived, she
would not have struck her mother."

The beggar by the door had listened, and the words
for a moment had drowned the sound of the eternal
forests* alluring murmur. For see, this great lady,
she made herself his equal in sin, his sister in perdi-
tion, to give him courage to live. For he should learn
that sorrow and wrong-doing weighed down other
heads tha^^ his. He rose and went over to the major's
wife.

" Will you live now? Gosta Berling? " she asked with
a voice which broke with tears. " Why should you
die? You could have been such a good priest, but
it was never Gosta Berling whom you drowned in
brandy, he as gleamingly innocent-white as that Mar-
gareta Celsing I suffocated in hate. Will you live?"

Gosta fell on his knees before her.
Forgive me," he said, " I cannot."
I ahi an old woman, hardened by much sorrow,"
answered the major's wife, "and I sit here and give
myself as a prize to a beggar, whom I have found
half-frozen in a snow-drift by the roadside. It serves
me right Let him go and kill himself; then at least
he won't be able to tell of my folly."

INTRODUCTION 2$

" I am no suicide, I am condemned to die. Do not
make the struggle too hard for me ! I may not live.
My body has taken possession of my soul, therefore
I must let it escape and go to God."

" And so you believe you will get there?"

" Farewell, and thank you ! "

" Farewell, Grosta Berling."

The beggar rose and walked with hanging head and
dragging step to the door. This woman made the
way up to the great forests heavy for him.

When he came to the door, he had to look back.
Then he met her glance, as she sat still and looked
after him. He had never seen such a change in any
face, and he stood and stared at her. She, who had
just been angry and threatening, sat transfigured, and
her eyes shone with a pitying, compassionate love.

There was something in him, in his own wild heart,
which burst before that glance ; he leaned his fore-
head against the door-post, stretched his arms up over
his head, and wept as if his heart would break.

The major's wife tossed her clay pipe into the fire
and came over to Gosta. Her movements were as ten-
der as a mother's.

" There, there, my boy ! "

And she got him down beside her on the bench by
the door, so that he wept with his head on her knees.

•'Will you still die?"

Then he wished to rush away. She had to hold
him back by force.

'• Now I tell you that you may do as you please.
But I promise you that, if you will live, I will take to
me the daughter of the Broby minister and make a
human being of her, so that she can thank her God
that you stole her meal. Now will you? "

26 INTRODUCTION

He raised his head and looked her right in the eyes.

'* Do you mean it? "

" I do, G5sta Beriing."

Then he wrung his hands in anguish. He saw
before him the peering eyes, the compressed lips,
the wasted little hands. This young creature would
get protection and care, and the marks of degradation
be effaced from her body, anger from her soul. Now
the way up to the eternal forests was closed to him.

" I shall not kill myself as long as she is under
your care," he said. ** I knew well enough that you
would force me to live. I felt that you were stronger
than I."

" Gosta Berling," she said solemnly, " I have fought
for you as for myself. I said to God: *If there is
anything of Margareta Celsing living in me, let her
come forward and show herself, so that this man may
not go and kill himself.' And He granted it, and you
saw her, and therefore you could not go. And she
whispered to me that for that poor child's sake you
would give up your plan of dying. Ah, you fly, you
wild birds, but our Lord knows the net which will
catch you."

" He is a great and wonderful God," said Gosta
Berling. " He has mocked me and cast me out, but
He will not let me die. May His will be done ! "

From that day Gosta Berling became a guest at
Ekeby. Twice he tried to leave and make himself a
way to live by his own work. The first time the
major's wife gave him a cottage near Ekeby ; he
moved thither and meant to live as a laborer. This
succeeded for a while, but he soon wearied of the
loneliness and the daily labor, and again returned as
a guest. There was another time, when he became

INTRODUCTION 27

tutor at Borg for Count Henry Dohna. During this
time he fell in love with the young Ebba Dohna, the
count's sister ; but when she died, just as he thought
he had nearly won her, he gave up every thought of
being anything but guest at Ekeby. It seemed to
him that for a dismissed priest all ways to make
amends were closed.

•

PART I

CHAPTER I

THE LANDSCAPE

I MUST now describe the long lake, the rich plains
and the blue mountains, sipce they were the scene
where Gosta Berling and the other knights of Ekeby
passed their joyous existence.

The lake has its sources far up in the north, and
it is a perfect country for a lake. The forest and
the mountains never cease to collect water for it ;
rivulets and brooks stream into it the whole year
round. It has fine white sand to stretch itself over,
headlands and islands to mirror and to look at, river
sprites and sea nymphs have free play room there,
and it quickly grows large and beautiful. There,
in the north, it is smiling and friendly; one needs
but to see it on a summer morning, when it lies half
awake under a veil of mist, to perceive how gay it
is. It plays first for a while, creeps softly, softly,
out of its light covering, so magically beautiful that
one can hardly recognize it ; but then it casts from
it, suddenly, the whole covering, and lies there bare
and uncovered and rosy, shining in the morning
light.

30 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

But the lake is not content with this life of play;
it draws itself together to a narrow strait, breaks its
way out through the sand-hills to the south, and
seeks out a new kingdom for itself. And such a
one it also finds ; it gets larger and more powerful,
has bottomless depths to fill, and a busy landscape
to adorn. And now its water is darker, its shores
less varying, its winds sharper, its whole character
more severe. It has become a stately and magnifi-
cent lake. Many are the ships and the rafts of tim-
ber which pass there ; late in the year it finds time
to take its winter rest, rarely before Christmas.
Often is it in peevish mood, when it grows white
with wrath and drags down sailing-boats ; but it can
also lie in a dreamy calm and reflect the heavens.

But still farther out into the world will the lake
go, although the mountains become bolder and space
narrower; still farther down it comes, so that it once
again must creep as a narrow strait between sand-
bound shores. Then it broadens out for the third
time, but no longer with the same beauty and
might.

The shores sink down and become tame, gentler
winds blow, the lake takes its winter rest early. It
is still beautiful, but it has lost youth's giddiness
and manhood's strength — it is now a lake like any
other. With two arms it gropes after a way to Lake
Vanem, and when that is found it throws itself with
the feebleness of old age over the slopes and goes
with a last thundering leap to rest.

The plain is as long as the lake; but it has no
easy time to find a place between sea and mountain,
all the way from the valley of the basin at the lake's
northern end, where it first dares to spread itself

THE LANDSCAPE 3 1

out, till it lays itself to easy rest by the Vanern's
shore. There is no doubt that the plain would
Tather follow the shore of the lake, long as it is, but
the mountains give it no peace. The mountains are
mighty granite walls, covered with woods, full of
cliffs difficult to cross, rich in moss and lichen, —
in those old days the home of many wild things.

On the far-stretching ridges one often comes upon
a wet swamp or a pool with dark water. Here and
there is a charcoal kiln or an open patch where tim-
ber and wood have been cut, or a burnt clearing, and
these all bear witness that there is work going on on
the mountains; but as a rule they lie in careless
peace and amuse themselves with watching the lights
and shadows play over their slopes,

And with these mountains the plain, which is
peaceful and rich, and loves work, wages a perpet-
ual war, in a friendly spirit, however.

"It is quite enough," says the plain to the moun-
tains ; " if you set up your walls about me, that is
safety enough for me."

But the mountains will not listen. They send
out long rows of hills and barren table-lands way
down to the lake. They raise great look-out towers
on every promontory, and leave the shores of the
lake so seldom that the plain can but rarely stretch
itself out by the soft, broad sands. But it does not
help to complain.

"You ought to be glad that we stand here," the
mountains say. "Think of that time before Christ-
mas, when the icy fogs, day after day, rolled up from
the Lofven. We do you good service. "

The plain complains that it has no space and
an ugly view.

$2 THE STORY OF COSTA BERUNG

" You are so stupid, " answer the mountains ; " if
you could only feel how it is blowing down here by
the lake. One needs at least a granite back and a
fir-tree jacket to withstand it. And, besides, you
can be glad to have us to look at."

Yes, looking at the mountains, that is just what
the plain is doing. It knows so well all the won-
derful shiftings of light and shade, which pass over
them. It knows how they sink down in the noon-
day heat towards the horizon, low and a dim light-
blue, and in the morning or evening light raise their
venerable heights, clear blue as the sky at noon.

Sometimes the light falls so sharply over them
that they look green or dark-blue, and every sepa-
rate fir-tree, each path and cleft, is visible miles
away.

There are places where the mountains draw back
and allow the plain to come forward and gaze at the
lake. But when it sees the lake in its anger, hiss-
ing and spitting like a wildcat, or sees it covered
with that cold mist which happens when the sea-
sprite is busy with brewing or washing, then it
agrees that the mountains were right, and draws
back to its narrow prison again.

Men have cultivated the beautiful plain time out
of mind, and have built much there. Wherever a
stream in white foaming falls throws itself down the
slope, rose up factories and mills. On the bright,
open places, where the plain came down to the lake,
churches and vicarages were built ; but on the edges
of the valley, half-way up the slope, on stony
grounds, where grain would not grow, lie farm-
houses and officers' quarters, and here and there a
manor.

THE LANDSCAPE 33

Still, in the twenties, this district was not nearly
so much cultivated as now. Many were the woods
and lakes and swamps which now can be tilled.
There were not so many people either, and they
earned their living partly by carting and day labor
at the many factories, partly by working at neigh-
boring places ; agriculture could not feed them. At
that time they went dressed in homespun, ate oat-
cakes, and were satisfied with a wage of ten cents a
day. Many were in great want ; but life was often
made easier for them by a light and glad temper,
and by an inborn handiness and capability.

And all those three, the long lake, the rich plain,
and the blue mountains, made the most beautiful
scenery, and still do, just as the people are still to
this day, strong, brave and intelligent. Great prog-
ress has been made, however, in prosperity and
culture.

May everything go well with those who live far
away by the long lake and the blue mountains 1 I
shall now recall some of their memories.

I

34 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

CHAPTER II

CHRISTMAS EVE

SiNTRAM is the name of the wicked master of the
works at Fors, with his clumsy ape-body, and his
long arms, with his bald head and ugly, grinning
face, — he whose delight is to make mischief.

Sintram it is who takes only vagrants and bullies
for workmen, and has only quarrelsome, lying
maids in his service; he who excites dogs to mad-
ness by sticking pins in their noses, and lives hap-
piest among evil people and fierce beasts.

It is Sintram whose greatest pleasure is to dress
himself up in the foul fiend's likeness, with horns,
and tail, and cloven hoof, and hairy body, and sud-
denly appearing from dark comers, from behind the
stove or the wood-pile, to frighten timid children,
and superstitious women.

It is Sintram who delights to change old friend-
ship to new hate, and to poison the heart with lies.

Sintram is his name — and one day he came to
Ekeby.

Drag the great wood-sledge into the smithy, put
it in the middle of the floor, and lay a cart-bottom
on the frame ! There we have a table. Hurrah for
the table ; the table is ready !

Come now with chairs, with everything which will
serve for a seat! Come with three-legged stools

^

CHRISTMAS EVE 35

and empty boxes ! Come with ragged old arm-chairs
without any backs, and push up the runner less sleigh
and the old coach! Ha, ha, ha, up with the old
coach; it shall be the speaker's chair!

Just look ; one wheel gone, and the whole bottom
out! Only the coach-box is left. The cushion is
thin and worn, its moss stuffing coming through,
the leather is red with age. High as a house is the
old wreck. Prop it up, prop it up, or down it will
come!

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! It is Christmas eve at Ekeby.

Behind the broad bed's silken curtains sleep the
major and the major's wife, sleep and believe that
the bachelors' wing sleeps. The men-servants and
maids can sleep, heavy with feasting and the bitter
Christmas ale; but not their masters in the bach-»
elors' wing. How can any one think that* the
bachelors' wing sleeps.?

Sleeps, sleeps (oh, child of man, sleeps!), when
the pensioners are awake. The long tongs stand
upright on the floor, with tallow candles in their
claws. From the mammoth kettle of shining copper
flames the blue fire of the burning brandy, high up
to the dark roof. Beerencreutz's horn-lantern hangs
on the forge-hammer. The yellow punch glows in
the bowl like a bright sun. The pensioners are
celebrating Christmas eve in the smithy.

There is mirth and bustle. Fancy, if the major's
wife should see them !

What then? Probably she would sit down with
them and empty a bumper. She is a doughty woman ;
she 's not afraid of a thundering drinking-song or to
take a hand at killed The richest woman in Varm-

^ A Swedish game of cards.

■ I

36 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

land, as bold as a man, proud as a queen. Songs \
she loves, and sounding fiddles, and the huntingi^'j
horn. She likes wine and games of cards, and tables
surrounded by merry guests are her delight. She
likes to see the larder emptied, to have dancing and
merry-making in chamber and hall, and the bache-
lors' wing full of pensioners.

See them round about the bowl ! Twelve are they,
twelve men. Not butterflies nor dandies, but men
whose fame will not soon die out in Varmland ; bnU^e
men and strong. g*

Not dried-up parchment, nor close-fisted money-
bags ; poor men, witliout a care, gentlemen th| whole
day long. ^

No mother's daffKlts, no sleepy masters gA their
own estates. Wsjpfffing men, cheerful men, Rights
of afdiundred adytaftc^

Now for many yeArs the bachelors' wing has stood
empty. Ekeby is no longer the chosen refuge of
homeless gentlemen. Pensioned officers and impov-
erished noblemen no longer drive about Varmland
in shaky one-horse vehicles. But let the dead live,
let them rise up in their glad, careless, eternal
youth ! •

All these notorious men could play on one or
several instruments. All were as full of wit and
humor and conceits and songs as an ant-hill is full
of ants; but each one had his particular great qual-
ity, his much esteemed merit which distinguished
him from the others.

First of all who sit about the bowl will I name
Beerencreutz, the colonel with the great white mous-
taches, player of cards, singer of songs; and next
to him, his friend and brother in*arms, the silent

.-J

CHRISTMAS EVE 37

major, the great bear-hunter, Anders Fuchs; and,
as the third in order, little Ruster, the drummer,
who had been for many years the colonel's servant,
but had won the rank of pensioner through his skill
in brewing punch and his knowledge of thorough-
bass. ' Then may be mentioned the. old ensign,
Rutger von Omeclou, lady-killer, dressed in stock
and wig and ruffles, and painted like a woman, —
he was one of the most important pensioners ; also
Christian Bergh, the mighty captain, who was a
stalwart hero, but as easy to outwit as a giant in the
fairy story. In these two men's company one often
saw the little, round Master Julius, witty, merry,
and gifted, speaker, painter, songster, and story-
teller. He often had his joke with the gout-crippled
ensign and the dull giant.

There was also the big German Kevenh.uller,
inventor of the automatic carriage and the flying-
machine, he whose name still echoes in the mur-
muring forests, — a nobleman by birth and in
appearance, with great curled moustaches, a pointed
beard, aquiline nose, and narrow, squinting eyes in
a net of intersecting wrinkles. There sat the great
warrior cousin, Christopher, who never went outside
the walls of the bachelors' wing unless there was to
be a bear-hunt or some foolhardy adventure; and
beside him Uncle Eberhard, the philosopher, who
had not come to Ekeby for pleasure and play, but in
order to be able, undisturbed by concern for daily
bread, to complete his great work in the science of
sciences.

Last oi all, and the best, the gentle Lovenborg,
who sought the good in the world, and understood
little of its ways, aijdLiUiecrona, the great musician.

38 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

who had a good home, and was always longing to
be there, but still remained at Ekeby, for his soul
needed riches and variety to be able to bear life.

These eleven men had all left youth behind them,
and several were in old age; but in the midst of
them was one who was not more than thirty years
old, and still possessed the full, undiminished
strength of his mind and body. It was Gosta Berling,
the Knight of Knights, who alone in himself was a
better speaker, singer, musician, hunter, drinking
companion and card-player than all of the others
together. He possessed all gifts. What a man
the major's wife had made of him !

Look at him now in the speaker's chair! The
darkness sinks from the black roof in great festoons
over him. His blond head shines through it like a
young god's. Slender, beautiful, eager for adven-
ture, he stands there.

But he is speaking very seriously.

"Gentlemen and brothers, the time passes, the
feast is far advanced, it is time to drink a toast to
the thirteenth at the table ! "

" Little brother Gosta, " cries Master Julius, " there
is no thirteenth; we are only twelve."

"At Ekeby a man dies every year," continues
Gosta with a more and more gloomy voice. " One
of the guests of the bachelors' wing dies, one of the
glad, the careless, the eternal youth dies. What of
that } Gentlemen should never be old. Could our
trembling hands not lift a glass, could our quenched
eyes not distinguish the cards, what has life for us,
and what are we for life } One must die of the thir-
teen who celebrate Christmas eve in the smithy at
Ekeby ; but every year a new one comes to complete

CHRISTMAS EVE 39

our number; a man, experienced in pleasure, one
who can handle violin and card, must come and make
our company complete. Old butterflies should know
how to die while the summer sun is shining. A
toast to the thirteenth!"

" But, Gosta, we are only twelve," remonstrate the
pensioners, and do not touch their glasses.

Gosta Berling, whom they called the poet, although
he never wrote verses, continues with unaltered calm-
ness : " Gentlemen and brothers ! Have you forgotten
who you are } You are they who hold pleasure by
force in Varmland. You are they who set the fiddle-
bows going, keep up the dance, make song and music
resound through the land. You know how to keep
your hearts from the love of gold, your hands from
work. If you did not exist the dance would die,
summer die, the roses die, card-playing die, song
die, and in this whole blessed land there would be
nothing but iron and owners of iron-works. Pleasure
lives while you live. For six years have I celebrated
Christmas eve in the Ekeby smithy, and never before
has any one refused to drink to the thirteenth. "

"But, Gosta," cry they all, "when we are only
twelve how can we drink to the thirteenth ? "

"Are we only twelve.^ " he says. " Why must we
die out from the earth.? Shall we be biit eleven
next year, but ten the year after. Shall our name
become a legend, our company destroyed.? I call
upon him, the thirteenth, for I have stood up to
drink his toast. From the ocean's depths, from the
bowels of the earth, from heaven, from hell I call
him who shall complete our number."

Then it rattled in the chimney, then the furnace-
door opened, then the thirteenth came.

40 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

He was hairy, with tail and cloven-hoof, with
horns and a pointed beard, and at the sight of him
the pensioners start up with a cry.

But in uncontrollable joy Gosta Berling cries,
"The thirteenth has come — a toast to the thir-
teenth ! "

Yes, he has come, the old enemy of mankind,
come to these foolhardy men who trouble the peace
of the Holy Night. The friend of witches on their
way to hell, who signs his bargains in blood on coal-
black paper, he who danced with the countess at
Ivarsnas for seven days, and could not be exorcized
by seven priests, — he has come.

In stormy haste thoughts fly through the heads of
the old adventurers at the sight of him. They won-
der for whose sake he is out this night.

Many of them were ready to hurry away in terror,
but they soon saw that the homed one had not come
to carry them down to his dark kingdom, but that
the ring of the cups and their songs had attracted
him. He wished to enjoy a little human pleasure
in this holy night, and cast aside his burden during
this glad time.

Oh, pensioners, pensioners, who of you now re-
members it is the night before Christmas ; that even
now angels are singing for the shepherds in the
fields.^ Children are lying anxious lest they sleep
too soundly, that they may not wake in time for the
beautiful morning worship. Soon it will be time to
light the Christmas candles in the church at Bro,
and far away in the forest homes the young man in
the evening has prepared a resin torch to light his
girl to church. In all the houses the mistress has
placed dip-lights in the windows, ready to light as

r

CHRISTMAS EVE

41

the people go by to church. The sexton takes up
the Christmas psalm in his sleep, and the old min-
ister lies and tries if he has enough voice left to
sing: "Glory be to God on high, on earth peace,
good-will towards men ! "

Oh, pensioners, better had it been for you if you
had spent this peaceful night quietly in your beds
than to trouble the company with the Prince of
Darkness.

But they greet him with cries of welcome, as
Gosta had done. A goblet filled with burning
brandy is placed in his hand. They give him the
place of honor at the table, and they look upon him
with gladness, as if his ugly satyr face wore the
delicate features of their youth's first love.

Beerencreutz invites him to a game of cards. Mas-
ter Julius sings his best songs for him, and Orneclou
talks to him of lovely women, those beautiful creat-
ures who make life sweet.

He enjoys everything, the devil, as with princely
bearing he leans back on the old coach-box, and
with clawed hand lifts the brimming goblet to his
smiling mouth.

But Gosta Berling of course must make a speech
in his honor.

"Your Grace," he says, "we have long awaited
you here at Ekeby, for you have little access, we
suppose, to any other paradise. Here one can live
without toiling or spinning, as your Grace perhaps
knows. Here roasted ortolans fly into one's mouth,
and the bitter ale and the sweet brandy flow in
brooks and rivulets. This is a good place, your
Grace ! We pensioners have waited for you, I tell
you, for we have never been complete before. See,

42 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

we are something finer than we seem ; we are the
mighty twelve of the poet, who are of all time. We
were twelve when we steered the world, up there on
Olympus's cloud-veiled top, and twelve when we
lived like birds in Ygdrasil's green crown. Wher-
ever there has been poetry there have we followed.
Did we not sit twelve men strong about King
Arthur's Round Table, and were there not twelve
paladins at Charlemagne's court? One of us has
been a Thor, a Jupiter; any one can see that in us
now. They can perceive the divine splendor under
our rags, the lion's mane under the ass's head.
Times are bad with us, but if we are there a smithy
becomes Olympus and the bachelors' wing Valhalla.

" But, your Grace, our number has not been com-
plete. Every one knows that in the poet's twelve
there must always be a Loki, a Prometheus. Him
have we been without.

" Your Grace, I wish you welcome ! "

"Hear, hear, hear!" says the evil one; "such a
fine speech, a fine speech indeed ! And I, who have
no time to answer. Business, boys, business. I
must be off, otherwise I should so gladly be at your
service in any r61e you like. Thanks for a pleasant
evening, old gossips. We shall meet again."

Then the pensioners demand where he is going;
and he answers that the noble major's wife, mistress
of Ekeby, is waiting for him to get her contract
renewed.

Great wonder seizes upon the pensioners.

A harsh and capable woman is she, the major's
wife at Ekeby. She can lift a barrel of flour on her
broad shoulders. She follows the loads of ore from
the Bergslagen mines, on the long road to Ekeby.

CHRISTMAS EVE 43

She sleeps like a waggoner on the stable floor, with
a meal-bag under her head. In the winter she will
watch by a charcoal kiln, tn the summer follow a
timber-raft down to the LCfven. She is 3 powerful
woman. She swears like a trooper, and rules over
her seven estates like a king; rules her own parish
and all the neighboring parishes; yes, the whole of
lovely Varmland. But for the homeless gentlemen
she had been like a mother, and therefore they had
closed their ears when slander had whispered to
them that she was in league with the devil.

So they ask him with wonder what kind of a con-
tract she has made with him.

And he answers them, the black one, that he had
given the major's wife her seven estates on the con-
dition that she should send him every year a human
soul.

Oh, the horror which compresses the pensioners'
hearts!

Of course they knew it, but they had not under-
stood before.

At Ekeby every year, a man dies, one of the guests
in the bachelors' wing dies, one of the glad, the care-
less, the ever young dies. What of that ? — gentle-
men may not be old ! If their trembling fingers can-
not lift the glass, if their dulled eyes cannot see the
cards, what has life for them, and what are they to
life ? Butterflies should know how to die while the
sun is shining.

But now, now for the first time, they grasp its real
meaning.

Woe to that woman ! That is why she had given
them so many good meals, why she had let them
drink her bitter ale and her sweet brandy, that they

44 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

might reel from the drinking-halls and the card-
tables at Ekeby down to the king of hell, — one a
year, one for each passing year.

Woe to the woman, the witch ! Strong men had
come to this Ekeby, had come hither to* perish.
For she had destroyed them here. Their brains
were as sponges, dry ashes their lungs, and darkness
their spirit, as they sank back on their death-beds
and were ready for their long journey, hopeless,
soulless, virtueless.

Woe to the woman ! So had those died who had
been better men than they, and so should they die.

But not long are they paralyzed by weight of
terror.

"You king of perdition!" they cry, "never again
shall you make a blood-signed contract with that
witch ; she shall die ! Christian Bergh, the mighty
captain, has thrown over his shoulder the heaviest
sledge-hammer in the smithy. He will bury it to
the handle in the hag's head. No more souls shall
she sacrifice to you.

"And you, you horned thing, we shall lay you
on the anvil and let the forge-hammer loose. We
shall hold you quiet with tongs under the hammer's
blows and teach you to go a-hunting for gentlemen's
souls. "

He is a coward, the devil, as every one knows of
old, and all this talk of the forge-hammer does not
please him at all. He calls Christian Bergh back
and begins to bargain with the pensioners.

"Take the seven estates; take them yourselves,
gentlemen, and give me the major's wife ! "

" Do you think we are as base as she } " cries
Master Julius. " We will have Ekeby and all the

CHRISTMAS EVE 45

rest, but you must look after the major's wife
yourself. "

" What does Gosta say ? what does Gosta say ? *'
asks the gentle Lowenborg. " Gosta Barling must
speak. We must hear what he thinks of this impor-
tant matter. "

"It is madness," says Gosta Berling. "Gentle-
men, don't let him make fools of you! What are
you all against the major's wife? It may fare as it
will with our souls, but with my consent we will not
be such ungrateful wretches as to act like rascals
and traitors. I have eaten her food for too many
years to deceive her now."

" Yes, you can go to hell, Gosta, if you wish ! We
would rather rule at Ekeby. "

" But are you all raving, or have you drunk away
your wits } Do you believe it is true .? Do you believe
that that thing is the devil? Don't you see that
it 's all a confounded lie? "

" Tut, tut, tut, " says the black one ; " he does not
see that he will soon be ready, and yet he has been
seven years at Ekeby. He does not see how far
advanced he is. "

"Begone, man! I myself have helped to shove
you into the oven there. "

" As if that made any difference ; as if I were not
as good a devil as another. Yes, yes, Gosta Berling,
you are in for it. You have improved, indeed, under
her treatment. "

"It was she who saved me," says Gosta. "What
had I been without her ? "

"As if she did not know what she was about when
she kept you here at Ekeby. You can lure others
to the trap ; you have great gifts. Once you tried

46 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

to get away from her ; you let her give you a cot-
tage, and you became a laborer; you wished to earn
your bread. Every day she passed your cottage,
and she had lovely young girls with her. Once it
was Marianne Sinclair ; then you threw aside your
spade and apron, Gosta Berling, and came back as
pensioner. "

" It lay on the highway, you fool. "

"Yes, yes, of course; it lay on the highway.
Then you came to Borg, were tutor there to Henrik
Dohna, and might have been Countess Marta's son-
in-law. Who was it who managed that the young
Ebba Dohna should hear that you were only a dis-
missed priest, so that she refused you? It was the
major's wife, Gosta Berling. She wanted you back
again. "

" Great matter ! " says Gosta. " Ebba Dohna died
soon afterwards. I would never have got her any-
way. "

Then the devil came close up to him and hissed
right in his face: "Died! yes, of course she died.
Killed herself for your sake, did she.? But they
never told you that."

You are not such a bad devil," says Gosta.
It was the major's wife who arranged it all, I
tell you. She wanted to have you back in the
bachelors' wing."

Gosta burst out laughing.

"You are not such a bad devil," he cried wildly.
"Why should we not make a contract with you?
I 'm sure you can get us the seven estates if you
like."

" It is well that you do not longer withstand your
fate."

(S

CHRISTMAS EVE 4?

The pensioners drew a sigh of relief. It had gone
so far with them that they could do nothing without
Gosta. If he had not agreed to the arrangement it
could never have come to anything. And it was no
small matter for destitute gentlemen to get seven
estates for their own.

"Remember, now," says Gosta, "that we take the
seven estates in order to save our souls, but not to
be iron-work owners who count their money and
weigh their iron. No dried-up parchments, no
purse-proud money-bags will we become, but gentle-
men will we be and remain."

"The very words of wisdom," murmurs the black
one.

" If you, therefore, will give us the seven estates for
one year we will accept them ; but remember that if
we do anything during that time which is not worthy
of a gentleman. If we do anything which is sensible,
or useful, or effeminate, then you may take the
whole twelve of us when the year is out, and give
the estates to whom you will."

The devil rubbed his hands with delight.

"But if we always behave like true gentlemen,"
continues Gosta, "then you may never again make
any contract about Ekeby, and no pay do you get for
this year either from us or from the major's wif&"

"That is hard," says the devil. "Oh, dear Gosta,
I must have one soul, just one little, poor soul.
Couldn't I have the major's wife? Why should you
spare the major's wife? "

"I do not drive any bargains with such wares,"
roars Gosta; "but if you must have someone, you
can take old Sintram at Fors; he is ready, I can
answer for that."

■i

48 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

"Well, well, that will do," says the devil, with-
out blinking. " The pensioners or Sintram, they can
balance one another. This will be a good year. "

And so the contract was written, with blood from
Gosta's little finger, on the devil's black paper and
with his quill-pen.

And when it was done the pensioners rejoiced.
Now the world should belong to them for a whole
year, and afterwards there would always be some
way.

They push aside the chairs, make a ring about
the kettle, which stands in the middle of the black
floor, and whirl in a wild dance. Innermost in the
circle dances the devil, with wild bounds; and at
last he falls flat beside the kettle, rolls it over, and
drinks.

Then Beerencreutz throws himself down beside
him, and also Gosta Berling; and after them all the
others lay themselves in a circle round the kettle,
which is rolled from mouth to mouth. At last it
is tipped over by a push, and the hot, sticky drink
pours over them.

When they rise up, swearing, the devil is gone;
but his golden promises float like shining crowns
over the pensioners* heads.

CHRISTMAS DAY 49

CHAPTER III

CHRISTMAS DAY

On Christmas day the major's wife gives a great
dinner at Ekeby.

She sits as hostess at a table laid for fifty guests.
She sits there in splendor and magnificence; here
her short sheepskin jacket, her striped woollen skirt,
and clay-pipe do not follow her. She rustles in
silk, gold weighs on her bare arms, pearls cool her
white neck.

Where are the pensioners? Where are they who
on the black floor of the smithy, out of the polished
copper kettle, drank a toast to the new masters of
Ekeby t

In the comer by the stove the pensioners are sit-
ting at a separate table; to-day there is no room for
them at the big table. To them the food comes
late, the wine sparingly ; to them are sent no glances
from beautiful women, no one listens to Gosta's
jokes.

But the pensioners are like tamed birds, like sa-
tiated wild beasts. They had had scarcely an hour's
sleep that night; then they had driven to morning
worship, lighted by torches and the stars. They
saw the Christmas candles, they heard the Christ-
mas hymns, their faces were like smiling children's.
They forgot the night in the smithy as one forgets
an evil dream.

so THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

Great and powerful is the major's wife at Ekeby.
Who dares lift his arm to strike her; who his voice
to give evidence against her ? Certainly not poor
gentlemen who for many years have eaten her bread
and slept under her roof. She can put them where
she will, she can shut her door to them when she
will, and they have not the power to fly from her
might. God be merciful to their souls ! Far from
Ekeby they cannot live.

At the big table there was rejoicing : there shone
Marianne Sinclair's beautiful eyes; there rang the
gay Countess Dohna's low laugh.

But the pensioners are gloomy. Was it not just
as easy to have put them at the same table with the
other guests.^ What a lowering position there in
the corner by the stove. As if pensioners were not
fit to associate with fine people !

The major's wife is proud to sit between the Count
at Borg and the Bro clergyman. The pensioners
hang their heads like shame-faced children, and by
degrees awake in them thoughts of the night.

Like shy guests the gay sallies, the merry stories
come to the table in the corner by the stove. There
the rage of the night and its promises enter into
their minds. Master Julius makes the mighty cap-
tain, Christian Bergh, believe that the roasted
grouse, which are being served at the big table, will
not go round for all the guests; but it amuses no one.

"They won't go round," he says. "I know how
many there are. But they '11 manage in spite of it,
Captain Christian ; they have some roasted crows for
us here at the little table."

But Colonel Beerencreutz's lips are curved by
only a very feeble smile, under the fierce mous-

CHRISTMAS DAY 51

taches, and Gdsta has looked the whole day as if he
was itieditating somebody's death.

"Any food is good enough for pensioners," he says.
' At last the dish heaped up with magnificent grouse
reaches the little table.

But Captain Christian is angry. Has he not had
a life-long hate of crows, — those odious, cawing,
winged things .'

He hated them so bitterly that last autumn he had
put on a woman's trailing dress, and had fastened a
cloth on his head and made himself a laughing-stock
for all men, only to get in range when they ate the
grain in the fields.

He sought them out at their caucuses on the bare
fields in the spring and killed them. He looked for
their nests in the summer, and threw out the scream-
ing, featherless young ones, or smashed the half-
hatched eggs.

Now he seizes the dish of grouse

"Do you think I don't know them?" he cries to
the servant. " Do I need to hear them caw to recog-
nize them ? Shame on you, to offer Christian Bergh
crows ! Shame on you ! "

Thereupon he takes the grouse, one by one, and
throws them against the wall.

" Shame, shame 1 " he reiterates, so that the whole
room rings, — " to offer Christian Bergh crows !
Shame 1 "

And just as he used to hurl the helpless young
crows against the cliffs, so now he sends grouse after
grouse whizzing against the wall.

Sauce and grease spatter about him, the crushed
birds rebound to the floor.

And the bachelors' wing rejoices.

52 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Then the angry voice of the major's wife pene-
trates to the pensioners' ears.

" Turn him out ! " she calls to the servants.

But they do not dare to touch him. He is still
Christian Bergh, the mighty captain.

" Turn him out ! "

He hears the command^ and, terrible in his rage^
he now turns upon the major's wife as a bear turns
from a fallen enemy to meet a new attack. He
marches up to the horse-shoe table. His heavy
tread resounds through the hall. He stands oppo-
site her, with the table between them.

"Turn him out! " cries the major's wife again.

But he is raging ; none dare to face his frowning
brow and great clenched hand. He is big as a giant,
and as strong. The guests and servants tremble,
and dare not approach him. Who would dare to
touch him now, when rage has taken away his
reason ?

He stands opposite the major's wife and threatens
her.

" I took the crow and threw it against the wall.
And I did right."

" Out with you, captain ! "

"Shame, woman! Offer Christian Bergh crows!
If I did right I would take you and your seven
hell's — "

" Thousand devils, Christian Bergh! don't swear.
Nobody but I swears here. "

"Do you think I am afraid of you, hag.^ Don't
you think I know how you got your seven estates ? "

"Silence, captain!"

" When Altringer died he gave them to your hus-
band because you had been his mistress. "

CHRISTMAS DAY SI

"Will you be silent?"

" Because you had been such a faithful wife, Mar-
gareta Samzelius. And the major took the seven
estates and let you manage them and pretended
not to know. And the devil arranged it all; but
now comes the end for you. "

The major's wife sits down; she is pale and trem-
bling. She assents in a strange, low voice.

"Yes, now it is the end for me, and it is your
doing, Christian Bergh."

At her voice Captain Christian trembles, his face
works, and his eyes are filled with tears of anguish.

"lam drunk," he cries. "I don't know what I
am saying; I haven't said anything. Dog and
slave, dog and slave, and nothing more have I been
for her for forty years. She is Margareta Celsing,
whom I have served my whole life. I say nothing
against her. What should I have to say against the
beautiful Margareta Celsing ! I am the dog which
guards her door, the slave who bears her burdens.
She may strike me, she may kick me! You see
how I hold my tongue and bear it. I have loved her
for forty years. How could I say anything against
her?"

And a wonderful sight it is to see how he kneels
and begs for forgiveness. And as she is sitting on
the other side of the table, he goes on his knees
roimd the table till he comes to her; then he bends
down and kisses the hem of her dress, and the floor
is wet with his tears.

But not far from the major's wife sits a small,
strong man. He has shaggy hair, small, squinting
eyes, and a protruding under-jaw. He looks like a
bear. He is a raan of few words, who likes to go

54 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

his own quiet way and let the world take care
itself. He is Major Samzelius.

He rises when he hears Captain Christian's accus —
ing words, and the major's wife rises, and all the^
fifty guests. The women are weeping in terror ol
what is coming, the men stand dejected, and at th<
feet of the major's wife lies Captain Christian, kiss —
ing the hem of her dress, wetting the floor with his -
tears.

The major slowly clenches his broad, hairy hands,
and lifts his arm.

But the woman speaks first. Her voice sounds
hollow and unfamiliar.

"You stole me," she cried. "You came like a
thief and took me. They forced me, in my home, by
blows, by hunger, and hard words to be your wife.
I have treated you as you deserved."

The major's broad fist is clenched. His wife
gives way a couple of steps. Then she speaks
again.

"Living eels twist under the knife; an unwilling
wife takes a lover. Will you strike me now for
what happened twenty years ago.? Do you not re-
member how he lived at Ekeby, we at Sjo.? Do you
not remember how he helped us in our poverty.?
We drove in his carriages, we drank his wine. Did
we hide anything from you.? Were not his servants
your servants.? Did not his gold weigh heavy in
your pocket.? Did you not accept the seven estates?
You held your tongue and took them; then you
should have struck, Berndt Samzelius, — then you
should have struck."

The man turns from her and looks on all those
present. He reads in their faces that they think

CHRISTMAS DAY 55

she is right, that they all believe he took the estates
in return for his silence.

"I never knew it!" he says, and stamps on the
floor.

" It is well that you know it now ! " she cries, in a
shrill, ringing voice. "Was I not afraid lest you
should die without knowing it ? It is well that you
know it now, so that I can speak out to you who
have been my master and jailer. You know now
that I, in spite of all, was his from whom you stole
me. I tell you all now, you who have slandered
me ! "

It is the old love which exults in her voice and
shines from her eyes. Her husband stands before
her with lifted hand. She reads horror and scorn
on the fifty faces about her. She feels that it is the
last hour of her power. But she cannot help rejoic-
ing that she may speak openly of the tenderest
memory of her life.

" He was a man, a man indeed. Who were you,
to come between us ? I have never seen his equal.
He gave me happiness, he gave me riches. Blessed
be his memory ! '*

Then the major lets his lifted arm fall without
striking her; now he knows how he shall punish her.
" Away ! " he cries ; " out of my house ! "
She stands motionless.

But the pensioners stand with pale faces and stare
at one another. Everything was going as the devil
had prophesied. They now saw the consequences
of the non-renewal of the contract. If that is true,
so is it also true that she for more than twenty years
had sent pensioners to perdition, and that they too
were destined for the journey. Oh, the witch t

$6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

" Out with you ! " continues the major. " Beg
your bread on the highway! You shall have no
pleasure of his money, you shall not live on his
lands. There is no more a mistress of Ekeby.
The day you set your foot in my house I will kill
you. "

" Do you drive me from my home ? "

" You have no home. Ekeby is mine."

A feeling of despair comes over the major's wife.
She retreats to the door, he following close after
her.

" You who have been my life's curse," she laments^
" shall you also now have power to do this to me ? "

" Out, out ! "

She leans against the door-post, clasps her hands,
and holds them before her face. She thinks of her
mother and murmurs to herself : —

" ' May you be disowned, as I have been disowned;
may the highway be your home, the hay*stack your
bed ! ' It is all coming true. "

The good old clergyman from Bro and the judge
from Munkerud came forward now to Major Samzelius
and tried to calm him. They said to him that it
would be best to let all those old stories rest, to let
everything be as it was, to forget and forgive.

He shakes the mild old hands from his shoul-
der. He is terrible to approach, just as Christian
Bergh had been.

" It is no old story, " he cries. " I never knew
anything till to-day. I have never been able before
to punish the adulteress."

At that word the major's wife lifts her head and
regains her old courage.

"You shall go out before I do. Do you think

CHRISTMAS DAY 57

that I shall give in to you?" she says. And she
comes forward from the door.

The major does not answer, but he watches her
every movement, ready to strike if he finds no better
way to revenge himself.

"Help me, good gentlemen," she cries, "to get
this man bound and carried out, until he gets back
the use of his senses. Remember who I am and
who he is! Think of it, before I must give in to
him ] I arrange all the work at Ekeby, and he sits
the whole day long and feeds his bears. Help me,
good friends and neighbors I There will be a bound-
less misery if I am no longer here. The peasant
gets his living by cutting my wood and carting my
iron. The charcoal burner lives by getting me
charcoal, the lumber man by bringing down my
timber. It is I who give out the work which brings
prosperity. Smiths, mechanics, and carpenters live
by serving me. Do you think that man can keep
my work going? I tell you that if you drive me
away you let famine in."

Again are many hands lifted to help the major's
wife; again mild, persuading hands are laid on the
major's shoulders.

"No," he says, "away with you. Who will de-
fend an adulteress? I tell you that if she does not
go of her own will I shall take her in my anns and
carry her down to my bears. "

At these words the raised hands are lowered.

Then, as a last resource, she turns to the pen-
sioners.

"Will you also allow me to be driven from my
home? Have I let you freeze out in the snow in
winter? Have | denied you bitter ale and sweet

58 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

brandy ? Did I take any pay or any work from you
because I gave you food and clothes ? Have you not
played at my feet, safe as children at their mother's
side? Has not the dance gone through my halls?
Have not merriment and laughter been your daily
bread? Do not let this man, who has been my life's
misfortune, drive me from my home, gentlemen!
Do not let me become a beggar on the highway ! "

At these words Gosta Berling had stolen away to
a beautiful dark-haired girl who sat at the big
table.

"You were much at Borg five years ago, Anna,"
he says. " Do you know if it was the major's wife
who told Ebba Dohna that I was a dismissed
priest ? "

" Help her, Gosta! " is the girl's only answer.

" You must know that I will first hear if she has
made me a murderer."

" Oh, Gosta, what a thought ! Help her, Gosta! "

"You won't answer, I see. Then Sintram told
the truth." And Gosta goes back to the other pen-
sioners. He does not lift a finger to help the
major's wife.

Oh, if only she had not put the pensioners at a
separate table off there in the corner by the stove !
Now the thoughts of the night awake in their minds,
and a rage burns in their faces which is not less than
the major's own.

In pitiless hardness they stand, unmoved by her
prayers.

Did not everything they saw confirm the events
of the night ?

"One can see that she did not get her contract
renewed," murmurs one.

CHRISTMAS DAY 59

" Go to hell, hag ! " screams another. " By rights
we ought to hunt you from the door."

"Fools," cries the gentle old Uncle Eberhard
to the pensioners. "Don't you understand it was
Sintram ? "

" Of course we understand ; of course we know
it," answers Julius; "but what of that? May it not
be true, at any rate.' Does not Sintram go on
the devil's errands? Don't they understand one
another ? "

"Go yourself, Eberhard; go and help hert" they
mock. " Vou don't believe in hell. You can
go!"

And GostaBerling stands, without a word, motion-
less.

No, from the threatening, murmuring, struggling
bachelors' wing she will get no help.

Then once again she retreats to the door and raises
her clasped hands to her eyes.

"'May you be disowned, as I have been disowned, ' "
she cries to herself in her bitter sorrow. " ' May the
highway be your home, the hay-stack your bed ! ' "

Then she lays one hand on the door latch, but the
other she stretches on high.

"Know you all, who now let me fall, know that
your hour is soon coming ! You shall be scattered,
and your place shall stand empty. How can you
stand when I do not hold you up? You, Melchior
Sinclair, who have a heavy hand and let your wife
feel it, beware! You, minister at Broby, your pun-
ishment is coming! Madame Uggla, look after your
house; poverty is coming! You young, beautiful
women — Elizabeth Dohna, Marianne Sinclair, Anna
Stj^mhok — 'do not think that I am the only one who

6o THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

must flee from her home. And beware, pensioners,
a storm is coming over the land. You will be swept
away from the earth ; your day is over, it is verily
over ! I do not lament for myself, but for you ; for
the storm shall pass over your heads, and who shall
stand when I have fallen ? And my heart bleeds for
my poor people. Who will give them work when I
am gone ? "

She opens the door; but then Captain Christian
lifts his head and says: —

" How long must I lie here at your feet, Margareta
Celsing? Will you not forgive me, so that I may
stand up and fight for you ? "

Then the major's wife fights a hard battle with
herself; but she sees that if she forgives him he
will rise up and attack her husband ; and this man,
who has loved her faithfully for forty years will
become a murderer.

" Must I forgive, too ? " she says. " Are you not
the cause of all my misfortune, Christian Bergh?
Go to the pensioners and rejoice over your work."

So she went. She went calmly, leaving terror
and dismay behind her. She fell, but she was not
without greatness in her fall.

She did not lower herself to grieving weakly, but
in her old age she still exulted over the love of her
youth. She did not lower herself to lamenting and
pitiable weeping when she left everything; she did
not shrink from wandering about the land with beg-
gar's bag and crutch. She pitied only the poor
peasants and the happy, careless people on the shores
of the Lofven, the penniless pensioners, — all those
whom she had taken in and cared for.

She was abandoned by all, and yet she had strength

CHRISTMAS DAY 6l

to turn away her last friend that he should not be a
murderer.

She was a woman great in strength and love of
action. We shall not soon see her like again.

The next day Major Samzelius moved from Ekeby
to his own farm of Sjo, which lies next to the large
estate.

In Altringer's will, by which the major had got
the estates, it was clearly stated that none of them
should be sold or given away, but that after the
death of the major his wife and her heirs should
inherit them all. So, as he could not dissipate the
hated inheritance, he placed the pensioners to reign
over it, thinking that he, by so doing, most injured
Ekeby and the other six estates.

As no one in all the country round now doubted
that the wicked Sintramwent on the devil's errands,
and as everjrthing he had promised had been so bril-
liantly fulfilled the pensioners were quite sure that
the contract would be carried out in every point, and
they were entirely decided not to do, during the
year, an)rthing sensible, or useful, or effeminate,
convinced that the major's wife was an abominable
witch who sought their ruin.

The old philosopher, Eberhard, ridiculed their
belief. But who paid any attention to such a man,
who was so obstinate in his unbelief that if he had
lain in the midst of the fires of hell and had seen
all the devils standing and grinning at him, w6uld
still have insisted that they did not exist, because
they could not exist? — for Uncle Eberhard was a
great philosopher.

Gosta Berling told no one what he thought. It is
certain that he considered he owed the major's wife

62 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

little thanks because she had made him a pensioner
at Ekeby; it seemed better to him to be dead than
to have on his conscience the guilt of Ebba Dohna's
suicide.

He did not lift his hand to be revenged on the
major's wife, but neither did he to help her. He
could not. But the pensioners had attained great
power and magnificence. Christmas was at hand,
with its feasts and pleasures. The hearts of the
pensioners were filled with rejoicing; and whatever
sorrow weighed on Gosta Berling's heart he did not
show in face or speech.

GOSTA BERUNG, POET 63

CHAPTER IV

GiJSTA BERUNG, POET

It was Christmas, and there was to be a ball at
Borg.

At that time, and it is soon sixty years ago, a
young Count Dohna lived at Borg; he was newly
married, and he had a young, beautiful countess. It
was sure to be gay at the old castle.

An invitation had come to Ekeby, but it so hap-
pened that of them all who were there that year,
Gosta Berling, whom they called "the poet," was
the only one who wished to go.

Borg and Ekeby both lie by the Lofven, but on
opposite shores. Borg is in Svartsjo parish, Ekeby
in Bro. When the lake is impassable it is a ten or
twelve miles' journey from Ekeby to Borg.

The pauper, Gosta Berling, was fitted out for the
festival by the old men, as if he had been a king's
son, and had the honor of a kingdom to keep up.

His coat with the glittering buttons was new, his
ruffles were stiff, and his buckled shoes shining.
He wore a cloak of the finest beaver, and a cap of
sable on his yellow, curling hair. They spread a
bear-skin with silver claws over his sledge, and gave
him black Don Juan, the pride of the stable, to
drive.

64 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERUNG

He whistled to his white Tancred^ and seized the
braided reins. He started rejoicing, surrounded by
the glitter of riches and splendor, he who shone so
by his own beauty and by the playful brilliancy of
his genius.

He left early in the forenoon. It was Sunday,
and he heard the organ in the church at Bro as he
drove by. He followed the lonely forest road which
led to Berga, where Captain Uggla then lived
There he meant to stop for dinner.

Berga was no rich man's home. Hunger knew
the way to that turf-roofed 'house; but he was met
with jests, charmed with song and games like other
guests, and went as unwillingly as they.

The old Mamselle Ulrika Dillner, who looked
after everything at Berga, stood on the steps and
wished Gosta Berling welcome. She courtesied to
him, and the false curls, which hung down over her
brown face with its thousand wrinkles, danced with
joy. She led him into the dining-room, and then
she began to tell him about the family, and their
changing fortunes.

Distress stood at the door, she said ; it was hard
times at Berga. They would not even have had any
horse-radish for dinner, with their corned beef, if
Ferdinand and the girls had not put Disa before a
sledge and driven down to Munkerud to borrow some.

The captain was off in the woods again, and would
of course come home with a tough old hare, on
which one had to use more butter in cooking it than
it was worth itself. That 's what he called getting
food for the house. Still, it would do, if only he
did not come with a miserable fox, the worst beast
our Lord ever made ; no use, whether dead or alive.

GOSTA BERLING, POET 65

And the captain's wife, yes, she was not up yet.
She ]ay abed and read novels, just as she had
always done. She was not made for work, that
God's angel.

No, that could be done by some one who was old
and gray like Ulrika Dillner, working night and day
to keep the whole miserable affair together. And
it was n't always so easy ; for it was the truth that
for one whole winter they had not had in that house
any other meat than bear-hams. And big wages
she did not expect; so far she had never seen any;
but they would not turn her out on the roadside
either, when she could n't work any longer in return
for her food. They treated a house-maid like a
human being in that house, and they would one of
these days give old Ulrika a good burial if they had
anything to buy the cofBn with.

" For who knows how it will be ? " she bursts out,
and wipes her eyes, which are always so quick to
tears. "We have debts to the wicked Sintram, and
he can take everything from us. Of course Ferdinand
is engaged to the rich Anna Stjarnhok; but she is
tired, — she is tired of him. And what will become
of us, of our three cows, and our nine horses, of our
gay young ladies who want to go from one ball to
another, of our dry fields where nothing grows, of
our mild Ferdinand, who will never be a real man,'
What will become of the whole blessed house, where
everything thrives except work ? "

But dinner-time came, and the family gathered.
The good Ferdinand, the gentle son of the house,
and the lively daughters came home with the bor-
rowed horse-radish. The captain came, fortified by
a bath in a hole in the ice and a tramp through the

66 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

woods. He threw up the window to get more air,
and shook Gosta's hand with a strong grip. And his
wife came, dressed in silk, with wide laces hanging
over her white hands, which Gosta was allowed to kiss.

They all greeted Gosta with joy ; jests flew about
the circle ; gayly they asked him : —

''How are you all at Ekeby; how is it in that
promised land ? "

" Milk and honey flow there," he answered. " We
empty the mountains of iron and flU our cellar with
wine. The fields bear gold, with which we gild life's
misery, and we cut down our woods to build bowling-
alleys and summer houses."

The captain's wife sighed and smiled at his answer,
and her lips murmured the word, —

" Poet ! "

"Many sins have I on my conscience," answered
Gosta, " but I have never written a line of poetry."

" You are nevertheless a poet, Gosta ; that name
you must put up with. You have lived through
more poems than all our poets have written."

Then she spoke, tenderly as a mother, of his wasted
life. ** I shall live to see you become a man," she
said. And he felt it sweet to be urged on by this
gentle woman, who was such a faithful friend, and
whose romantic heart burned with the love of gpreat
deeds.

But just as they had finished the gay meal and
had enjoyed the corned beef and horse-radish
and cabbage and apple fritters and Christmas ale,
and Gosta had made them laugh and cry by telling
them of the major and his wife and the Broby clergy-
man, they heard sleigh-bells outside, and immedi-
ately afterward the wicked Sintram walked in.

COSTA BERUNG, POET 67

He beamed with satisfaction, from the top of his
bald head down to his long, flat feet. He swung his
long arms, and his face was twisted. It was easy to
sec that he brought bad news.

'* Have you heard," he asked, — " have you heard
that the banns have been called to-day for Anna
Stjarnhok and the rich Dahlberg in the Svartsjo
church? She must have forgotten that she was
engaged-TO Ferdinand."

They had not heard a word of it They were
amazed and grieved.

Already they fancied the home pillaged to pay the
debt to this wicked man ; the beloved horses sold, as
well as the worn furniture which had come from the
home of the captain's wife. They saw an end to
the gay life with feasts and joumeyings from ball to
ball. Bear-hams would again adorn the board, and
the young people must go out into the world and
work for strangers.

The captain's wife caressed her son, and let him
feel the comfort of a never-failing love.

But — there sat Gosta Berling in the midst of
them, and, unconquerable, turned over a thousand
plans in his head.

" Listen," he cried, " it is not yet time to think
of grieving. It is the minister's wife at Svartsjo
who has arranged ail this. She has got a hold
on Anna, since she has been living with her at
the vicarage. It is she who has persuaded her
to forsake Ferdinand and take old Dahlberg; but
they 're not married yet, and will never be either.
I am on my way to Borg, and shall meet Anna
diere. I shall talk to her; I shall get her away
from the clergyman's, from her flanc^, — I shall

68 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

bring her with me here to-night. And afterwards
old Dahlberg shall never get any good of her."

And so it was arranged. Gosta started for Borg
alone, without taking any of the gay young ladies,
but with warm good wishes for his return. And
Sintram, who rejoiced that old Dahlberg should be
cheated, decided to stop at Berga to see Gosta come
back with the faithless girl. In a burst of good-will
he even wrapt round him his green plaid, a present
from Mamselle Ulrika.

The captain's wife came out on the steps with
three little books, bound in red leather, in her
hand.

" Take them," she said to Gosta, who already sat
in the sledge ; " take them, if you fail ! It is * Corinne,'
Madame de StaeFs * Corinne.* I do not want them
to go by auction."

" I shall not fail."

" Ah, Gosta, Gosta," she said, and passed her hand
over his bared head, " strongest and weakest of men !
How long will you remember that a few poor people's
happiness lies in your hand ? "

Once more Gosta flew along the road, drawn by
the black Don Juan, followed by the white Tancred,
and the joy of adventure filled his soul. He felt like
a young conqueror, the spirit was in him.

His way took him past the vicarage at Svartsjo.
He turned in there and asked if he might drive Anna
Stjarnhok to the ball. And that he was permitted.

A beautiful, self-willed girl it was who sat in his
sledge. Who would not want to drive behind the
black Don Juan?

The young people were silent at first, but then she
began the conversation, audaciousness itself.

COSTA BERLING, POET 69

" Have you heard what the minister read out in
church to-day?"

" Did he say that you were the prettiest girl be-
tween the Lofven and the Klar River? "

" How stupid you are ! but every one knows that.
He called the banns for me and old Dahlberg."

" Never would I have let you sit in my sledge nor
sat here myself, if I had known that. Never would I
have wished to drive you at all."

And the proud heiress answered : —

" I could have got there well enough without you,
Gosta Berling."

" It is a pity for you, Anna," said Gosta, thought-
fully, " that your father and mother are not alive.
You are your own mistress, and no one can hold you
to account."

" It is a much greater pity that you had not said
that before, so that I might have driven with some
one else."

" The minister's wife thinks as I do, that you need
some one to take your father's place ; else she had
never put you to pull in harness with such an old
nag."

" It is not she who has decided it."

" Ah, Heaven preserve us ! — have you yourself
chosen such a fine man?"

" He does not take me for my money."

" No, the old ones, they only run after blue eyes
and red cheeks ; and awfully nice they are, when they
do that"

" Oh, Gosta, are you not ashamed? "

" But remember that you are not to play with
young men any longer. No more dancing and
games. Your place is in the corner of the sofa —

70 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

or perhaps you mean to play cribbage. with old
Dahlberg?"

They were silent, till they drove up the steep hill
to Borg.

"Thanks for the drive! It will be long before I
drive again with you, Gosta Berling."

" Thanks for the promise ! I know many who will
be sorry to-day they ever drove you to a party."

Little pleased was the haughty beauty when she
entered the ball-room and looked over the guests
gathered there.

First of all she saw the little, bald Dahlberg beside
the tall, slender, golden-haired Gosta Berling. She
wished she could have driven them both out of the
room.

Her fianc^ came to ask her to dance, but she re-
ceived him with crushing astonishment

" Are you going to dance? You never do ! "

And the girls came to wish her joy.

" Don't give yourselves the trouble, girls. You
don't suppose that any one could be in love with old
Dahlberg. But he is rich, and I am rich, therefore
we go well together."

The old ladies went up to her, pressed her white
hand, and spoke of life's greatest happiness.

"Congratulate the minister's wife," she said. " She
is gladder about it than I."

But there stood Gosta Berling, the gay cavalier,
greeted with joy for his cheerful smile and his pleas-
ant words, which sifted gold-dust over life's gray web.
Never before had she seen him as he was that night.
He was no outcast, no homeless jester; no, a king
among men, a born king.

He and the other young men conspired against

GOSTA BERLING, POET 7I

her. She should think over how badly she had be-
haved when she gave herself with her lovely face and
her great fortune to an old man. And they let her
sit out ten dances.

She was boiling with rage.

At the eleventh dance came a man, the most in-
Mgnificant of all, a poor thing, whom nobody would
dance with, and asked her for a turn.

" There is no more bread, bring on the crusts," she
said.

They played a game of forfeits. The fair-haired
girls put their heads together and condemned her to
kiss the one she loved best. And with smiling lips
they waited to see the proud beauty kiss old
Dahlberg.

But she rose, stately in her anger, and said : —

" May I not just as well give a blow to the one I
like the least! "

The moment after Gosta's cheek burned under her
firm hand. He flushed a flaming red, but he con-
quered himself, seized her hand, held it fast a second,
and whispered : —

" Meet me in half an hour in the red drawing-
room on the lower floor ! "

His blue eyes flashed on her, and encompassed her
with magical waves. She felt that she must obey.

She met him with proud and angry words.

" How does it concern you whom I marry? "

He was not ready to speak gently to her, nor did it
seem to him best to speak yet of Ferdinand.

" I thought it was not too severe a punishment for
you to sit out ten dances. But you want to be
allowed unpunished to break vows and promises. If

72 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

a better man than I had taken your sentence in his
hand, he could have made it harder."

** What have I done to you and all the others, that
I may not be in peace? It is for my money's sake
you persecute me. I shall throw it into the Lofven,
and any one who wants it can fish it up."

She put her hands before her eyes and wept from
anger.

That moved the poet's heart. He was ashamed of
his harshness. He spoke in caressing tones.

"Ah, child, child, forgive me! Forgive poor
Grosta Berling! Nobody cares what such a poor
wretch says or does, you know that. Nobody weeps
for his anger, one might just as well weep over a
mosquito's bite. It was madness in me to hope that
I could prevent our loveliest and richest girl marry-
ing that old man. And now I have only distressed
you."

He sat down on the sofa beside her. Gently he
put his arm about her waist, with caressing tender-
ness, to support and raise her.

She did not move away. She pressed closer to
him, threw her arms round his neck, and wept with
her beautiful head on his shoulder.

O poet, strongest and weakest of men, it was not
about your neck those white arms should rest.

" If I had known that," she whispered, ** never
would I have taken the old man. I have watched
you this evening ; there is no one like you."

From between pale lips Gosta forced out, —

" Ferdinand."

She silenced him with a kiss.

" He is nothing; no one but you is anything. To
you will I be faithful."

COSTA BERLING, POET 73

" I am Gosta Berling," he said gloomily ; " you can-
not marry me,"

" You are the man I love, the noblest of men. You
need do nothing, be nothing. You are born a
king."

Then the poefs blood seethed. She was beautiful
and tender in her love. He took her in his arms.

" If you will be mine, you cannot remain at the
vicarage. Let me drive you to Ekeby to-night;
there I shall know how to defend you tiU we can be
married."

That was a wild drive through the night Ab-
sorbed in their love, they let Don Juan take his own
pace. The noise of the runners was like the lamenta-
tions of those they had deceived. What did they
care for that? She hung on his neck, and he leaned
forward and whispered in her ear.

" Can any happiness be compared in sweetness to
stolen pleasures?"

What did the banns matter? They had love. And
the anger of men ! Gosta Berling believed in fate ;
fate had mastered them : no one can resist fate.

If the stars had been the candles which had been
lighted for her wedding, if Don Juan's bells had been
the church chimes, calling the people to witness her
marriage to old Dahlberg, still she must have fled
with Gosta Berling. So powerful is fate.

They had passed the vicarage and Munkerud.
They had three miles to Berga and three miles more
to Ekeby. The road skirted the edge of the wood ;
on their right lay dark hills, on their left a long,
white valley.

Tancred came rushing. He ran so fast that he

74 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

seemed to lie along the ground. Howling with
fright, he sprang up in the sledge and crept under
Anna's feet.

Don Juan shied and bolted.

" Wolves ! " said Gosta Berling.

They saw a long, gray line running by the fence.
There were at least a dozen of them.

Anna was not afraid. The day had been richly
blessed with adventure, and the night promised to be
equally so. It was life, — to speed over the sparkling
snow, defying wild beasts and men.

Gosta uttered an oath, leaned forward, and struck
Don Juan a heavy blow with the whip.

"Are you afraid?" he asked. "They mean to
cut us off there, where the road turns."

Don Juan ran, racing with the wild beasts of the
forest, and Tancred howled in rage and terror. They
reached the turn of the road at the same time as the
wolves, and Gosta drove back the foremost with the
whip.

" Ah, Don Juan, my boy, how easily you could get
away from twelve wolves, if you did not have us to
drag."

They tied the green plaid behind them. The
wolves were afraid of it, and fell back for a while.
But when they had overcome their fright, one of
them ran, panting, with hanging tongue and open
mouth up to the sledge. Then Gosta took Madame
de Stael's " Corinne " and threw it into his mouth.

Once more they had breathing-space for a time,
while the brutes tore their booty to pieces, and then
again they felt the dragging as the wolves seized the
green plaid, and heard their panting breath. They
knew that they should not pass any human dwelling

GOSTA BERLING, POET 75

before Berga, but worse than death it seemed to
Gosta to see those he had deceived. But he knew
that the horse would tire, and what should become of
them then?

They saw the house at Berga at the edge of the
forest. Candles burned in the windows. Gosta knew
too well for whose sake.

But now the wolves drew back, fearing the neigh-
borhood of man, and Gosta drove past Berga. He
came no further than to the place where the road
once again buried itself in the wood ; there he saw a
dark group before him, — the wolves were waiting for
him.

" Let us turn back to the vicarage and say that we
took a little pleasure trip in the starlight. We can't
go on."

They turned, but in the next moment the sledge
was surrounded by wolves. Gray forms brushed by
them, their white teeth glittered in gaping mouths,
and their glowing eyes shone. They howled with
hunger and thirst for blood. The glittering teeth
were ready to seize the soft human flesh. The wolves
leaped up on Don Juan, and hung on the saddle-
cloth. Anna sat and wondered if they would eat
them entirely up, or if there would be something left,
so that people the next morning would find their
mangled limbs on the trampled, bloody snow.

"It's a question of our lives," she said, and leaned
down and seized Tancred by the nape of the neck.

"Don't, — that will not help! It is not for the
dog's sake the wolves are out to-night."

Thereupon Gosta drove into the yard at Berga, but
the wolves hunted him up to the very steps. He
had to beat them off with the whip.

^6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

" Anna," he said, as they drew up, " God would not
have it. Keep a good countenance ; if you are the
woman I take you for, keep a good countenance ! "

They had heard the sleigh-bells in the house, and
came out

** He has her ! " they cried, " he has her ! Long
live Gosta Berling ! " and the new-comers were em-
braced by one after another.

Few questions were asked. The night was far
advanced, the travellers were agitated by their terrible
drive. and needed rest. It was enough that Anna
had come.

All was well. Only "Corinne" and the green
plaid, Mamselle Ulrika's prized gift, were destroyed.

The whole house slept. But Gosta rose, dressed
himself, and stole out. Unnoticed he led Don Juan
out of the stable, harnessed him to the sledge, and
meant to set out. But Anna Stjarnhok came out
from the house.

" I heard you go out," she said. " So I got up,
too. I am ready to go with you."

He went up to her and took her hand.

" Don't you understand it yet? It cannot be. God
does not wish it. Listen now and try to understand.
I was here to dinner and saw their grief over your
faithlessness. I went to Borg to bring you back to
Ferdinand. But I have always been a good-for-
nothing, and will never be anything else. I betrayed
him, and kept you for myself. There is an old
woman here who believes that I shall become a man.
I betrayed her. And another poor old thing will
freeze and starve here for the sake of dying among
friends, but I was ready to let the wicked Sintram

GOSTA BERUNGy POET 77

take her home. You were beautiful, and sin is sweet.
It is so easy to tempt Gosta Berling. Oh, what a
miserable wretch I am ! I know how they love their
home, all those in there, but I was ready just now to
leave it to be pillaged. I forgot everything for your
sake, you were so sweet in your love. But now,
Anna, now since I have seen their joy, I will not keep
you ; no, I will not. You could have made a man of
me, but I may not keep you. Oh, my beloved ! He
there above mocks at our desires. We must bow
under His chastising hand. Tell me that you. from
this day will take up your burden ! All of them rely
upon you. Say that you will stay with them and be
their prop and help! If you love me, if you will
lighten my deep sorrow, promise me this ! My be-
loved, is your heart so great that you can conquer
yourself, and smile in doing it? "

She accepted the renunciation in a sort of ecstasy.

" I shall do as you wish, — sacrifice myself and
smile."

** And not hate my poor friends? "

She smiled sadly.

" As long as I love you, I shall love them."

" Now for the first time I know what you are. It
is hard to leave you."

" Farewell, Gosta ! Go, and God be with you !
My love shall not tempt you to sin."

She turned to go in. He followed her.

" Will you soon forget me ? "

" Go, Gosta ! We are only human."

He threw himself down in the sledge, but then she
came back again.

" Do you not think of the wolves? "

" Just of them I am thinking, but they have done

78 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

their work. From me they have nothing more to
get this night."

Once more he stretched his arms towards her, but
Don Juan became impatient and set off. He did not
take the reins. He sat backwards and looked after
her. Then he leaned against the seat and wept
despairingly.

" I have possessed happiness and driven her from
me; I myself drove her from me. Why did I not
keep her? "

Ah, Gosta Berling, strongest and weakest of men I

LA CACHUCHA 8l

'50 has
"^ too

CHAPTER V

LA CACHUCHA

War-horse ! war-horse ! Old friend, who now stand
tethered in the pasture, do you remember your
youth?

Do you remember the day of the battle? You
sprang forward, as if you had been borne on wings,
your mane fluttered about you like waving flames, on
your black haunches shone drops of blood and frothy
foam. In harness of gold you bounded forward ; the
ground thundered under you. You trembled with
joy. Ah, how beautiful you were!

It is the gray hour of twilight in the pensioners'
wing. In the big room the pensioners' red-painted
chests stand against the walls, and their holiday
clothes hang on hooks in the corner. The firelight
plays on the white-washed walls and on the yellow-
striped curtains which conceal the beds. The pen-
sioners' wing is not a kingly dwelling, — no seraglio
with cushioned divans and soft pillows.

But there lilliecrona's violin is heard. He is play-
ing the cachucha in the dusk of the evening. And
he plays it over and over again.

Cut the strings, break his bow! Why does he
play that cursed dance? Why does he play it, when
Omeclou, the ensign, is lying sick with the pains of
gout, so severe that he cannot move in his bed? No ;

78 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLIJNG

their,, the violin away and throw it against the wall
gejfc'will not stop.

'La cachucha, is it for us, master? Shall it be
.danced over the shaking floor of the pensioners'
wing, between the narrow walls, black with smoke
and greasy with dirt, under that low ceiUng? Woe
to you, to play so.

La cachucha, is it for us, — for us pensioners ? With-
out the snow-storm howls. Do you think to teach
the snow-flakes to dance in time? Are you playing
for the light-footed children of the storm?

Maiden forms, which tremble with the throbbing
of hot blood, small sooty hands, which have thrown
aside the pot to seize the castanets, bare feet under
tucked-up skirts, courts paved with marble slabs,
crouching gypsies with bagpipe, and tambourine,
Moorish arcades, moonlight, and black eyes, — have
you these, master? If not, let the violin rest

The pensioners are drying their wet clothes by the
fire. Shall they swing in high boots with iron-shod
heels and inch-thick soles? Through snow yards
deep they have waded the whole day to reach the
bear's lair. Do you think they will dance in wet,
reeking homespun clothes, with shaggy bruin as a
partner?

An evening sky glittering with stars, red roses in
dark hair, troublous tenderness in the air, untutored
grace in their movements, love rising from the
ground, raining from the sky, floating in the air, —
have you all that, master? If not, why do you force
us to long for such things?

Most cruel of men, are you summoning the tethered
war-horse to the combat? Rutger von Orneclou is
lying in his bed, a prisoner to the gout. Spare him

LA CACHUCHA 8l

the pain of tender memories, master ! He too has
worn sombrero and bright-colored hair-net; he too
has owned velvet jacket and belted poniard. Spare
ojd Orneclou, master !

But Lilliecrona plays the cachucha, always the
cachucha, and Orneclou is tortured like the lover
when he sees the swallow fly away to his beloved's
distant dwelling, like the hart when he is driven by
the hurrying chase past the cooling spring.

Lilliecrona takes the violin for a second from his
chin.

"Ensign, do you remember Rosalie von Berger?"

Orneclou swears a solemn oath.

"She was light as a candle-flame. She sparkled
and danced like the diamond in the end of the fiddle-
bow. You must remember her in the theatre at
Karlstad. We saw her when we were young; do
you remember?"

And the ensign remembered. She was small and
ardent. She was like a sparkling flame. She could
dance la cachucha. She taught all the young men
in Karlstad to dance cachucha and to play the casta-
nets. At the governor's ball a pas de deux was danced
by the ensign and Mile, von Berger, dressed as
Spaniards.

And he had danced as one dances under fig-trees
and magnolias, like a Spaniard, — a real Spaniard.

No one in the whole of Varmland could dance
cachucha like him. No one could dance it so that
it was worth speaking of it, but he.

What a cavalier Viirmland lost when the gout
stiffened his legs and great lumps grew out on his
joints ! What a cavalier he had been, so slender, so
handsome, so courtly ! " The handsome Orneclou "

82 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

he was called by those young girls, who were ready
to come to blows over a dance with him.

Then Lilliecrona begins the cachucha again, always
the cachucha, and Orneclou is taken back to old
times.

There he stands, and there she stands, Rosalie von
Berger. Just now they were alone in the dressing-
room. She was a Spaniard, he too. He was allowed
to kiss her, but carefully, for she was afraid of his
blackened moustache. Now they dance. Ah, as one
dances under fig-trees and magnolias! She draws
away, he follows ; he is bold, she proud ; he wounded,
she conciliatory. When he at the end falls on his
knees and receives her in his outstretched arms, a
sigh goes through the ball-room, a sigh of rapture.

He had been like a Spaniard, a real Spaniard.

Just at that stroke had he bent so, stretched his
arms so, and put out his foot to glide forward. What
grace ! He might have been hewn in marble.

He does not know how it happened, but he has
got his foot over the edge of the bed, he stands
upright, he bends, he raises his arms, snaps his
fingers, and wishes to glide forward over the floor in
the same way as long ago, when he wore so tight
patent leather shoes the stocking feet had to be cut
away.

"Bravo, Orneclou! Bravo, Lilliecrona, play life
into him ! "

His foot gives way ; he cannot rise on his toe. He
kicks a couple of times with one leg ; he can do no
more, he falls back on the bed.

Handsome sefior, you have grown old.

Perhaps the sefiorita has too.

It is only under the plane-trees of Granada that

LA CACHUCHA 83

the cachucha is danced by eternally young gitanas.
Eternally young, because, like the roses, each spring
brings new ones.

So now the time has come to cut the strings.

No, play on, Lilliecrona, play the cachucha, always
the cachucha !

Teach us that, although we have got slow bodies
and stiff joints, in our feelings we are always the
same, always Spaniards.

War-horse, war-horse !

Say that you love the trumpet-blast, which decoys
you into a gallop, even if you also cut your foot to
the bone on the steel-link of the tether.

84 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER VI

THE BALL AT EKEBY

t

Ah, women of the olden times !

To speak of you is to speak of the kingdom of
heaven; you were all beauties, ever bright, ever
young, ever lovely and gentle as a mother's eyes
when she looks down on her child. Soft as young
squirrels you hung on your husband's neck. Your
voice never trembled with anger, no frowns ruffled
your brow, your white hand was never harsh and
hard. You, sweet saints, like adored images stood
in the temple of home. Incense and prayers were
offered you, through you love worked its wonders,
and round your temples poetry wreathed its gold,
gleaming glory.

Ah, women of the past, this is the story of how
one of you gave Gosta Berling her love.

Two weeks after the ball at Borg there was one at
Ekeby.

What a feast it was ! Old men and women be-
come young again, smile and rejoice, only in speaking
of it.

The pensioners were masters at* Ekeby at that
time. The major's wife went about the country
with beggar's wallet and crutch, and the major lived
at Sjo. He could not even be present at the ball,
for at Sjo small-pox had broken out, and he was
afraid to spread the infection.

THE BALL AT EKEBY 85

What pleasures those twelve hours contained, from
the pop of the first cork at the dinner-table to the
last wail of the violins, long after midnight.

They have sunk into the background of time, those
crowned hours, made magical by the most fiery
wines, by the most delicate food, by the most inspir-
ing music, by the wittiest of theatricals, by the most
beautiful tableaux. They have sunk away, dizzy with
the dizziest dance. Where are to be found such
polished floors, such courtly knights, such lovely
women ?

Ah, women of the olden days, you knew well how
to adorn a ball. Streams of fire, of genius, and
youthful vigor thrilled each and all who approached
you. It was worth wasting one's gold on wax-candles
to light up your loveliness, on wine to instil gayety
into your hearts ; it was worth dancing soles to dust
and rubbing stiff arms which had drawn the fiddle-
bow, for your sakes.

Ah, women of the olden days, it was you who
owned the key to the door of Paradise.

The halls of Ekeby are crowded with the loveliest
of your lovely throng. There is the young Countess
Dohna, sparklingly gay and eager for game and
dance, as befits her twenty years ; there are the lovely
daughters of the judge of Munkerud, and the lively
young ladies from Berga; there is Anna Stjarn-
hok, a thousand times more beautiful than ever
before, with that gentle dreaminess which had come
over her ever since the night she had been hunted
by wolves; there are many more, who are not yet
forgotten but soon will be ; and there is the beautiful
Marianne Sinclair.

She, the famed queen of beauty, who had shone

86 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

at royal courts, who had travelled the land over and
received homage everywhere, she who lighted the
spark of love wherever she showed herself, — she had
deigned to come to the pensioners' ball.

At that time Varmland's glory was at its height,
borne up by many proud names. Much had the
beautiful land's happy children to be proud of, but
when they named their glories they never neglected
to speak of Marianne Sinclair.

The tales of her conquests filled the land.

They spoke of the coronets which had floated
over her head, of the millions which had been laid
at her feet, of the warriors' swords and poets* wreaths
whose splendor had tempted her.

And she possessed not only beauty. She was
witty and learned. The cleverest men of the day
were glad to talk with her. She was not an author
herself, but many of her ideas, which she had put
into the souls of her poet-friends, lived again in song.

In Varmland, in the land of the bear, she seldom
stayed. Her life was spent in perpetual journeyings.
Her father, the rich Melchior Sinclair, remained
at home at Bjorne and let Marianne go to her
noble friends in the large towns or at the great
country-seats. He had his pleasure in telling of
all the money she wasted, and both the old people
lived happy in the splendor of Marianne's glowing
existence.

Her life was a life of pleasures and homage. The
air about her was love — love her light and lamp,
love her daily bread.

She, too, had often loved, often, often ; but never
had that fire lasted long enough to forge the chains
which bind for life.

THE BALL AT EKEBY 87

" I wait for him, the irresistible," she used to say
of love. " Hitherto he has not climbed over several
ramparts, nor swum through several trenches. He
has come tamely, without wildness in his eye and
madness in his heart I wait for the conqueror, who
shall take me out of myself I mil feel love so
strong within me that I must tremble before him ;
now I know only the love at which my good sense
laughs."

Her presence gave fire to talk, life to the wine.
Her glowing spirit set the fiddle-bows going, and the
dance Eoated in sweeter giddiness than before over
the floor which she had touched with her feet. She
was radiant in the tableaux, she gave genius to the
comedy, her lovely lips —

Ah, hush, it was not her fault, she never meant
to do it I It was the balcony, it was the moonlight,
the lace veil, the knightly dress, the song, which were
to blame. The poor young creatures were innocent.

All that which led to so much unhappiness was
with the best intentions. Master Julius, who could
do anything, had arranged a tableau especially that
Marianne might shine in full glory.

In the theatre, which was set up in the great
drawing-room at Ekeby, sat the hundred guests
and looked at the picture, Spain's yellow moon
wandering through a dark night sky. A Don Juan
came stewing along Sevilla's street and stopped under
an ivy-clad balcony. He was disguised as a monk,
but one could see an embroidered cuff under the
sleeve, and a gleaming sword-point under the mantle's
hem.

He nused his voice in song : —

88 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

^* I kiss the lips of no fair maid,
Nor wet mine with the foaming wine

Within the beaker's gold.
A cheek upon whose rose-leaf shade
Mine eyes have lit a glow divine,
A look which shyly seeketh mine, —

These leave me still and cold.

" Ah, come not in thy beauty's glow,
Sefiora, through yon terrace-door ;

I fear when thou art nigh !
Cope and stole my shoulders know,
The Virgin only I adore.
And water-jugs hold comfort's store ;

For ease to them I fly."

As he finished, Marianne came out on the balcony,
dressed in black velvet aiid lace veil. She leaned
over the balustrade and sang slowly and ironically :

" Why tarry thus, thou holy man
Beneath my window late or long ?
Dost pray for my souPs weal ? "

Then suddenly, warmly and eagerly : —

" Ah, flee, begone while yet you can !
Your gleaming sword sticks forth so long,
And plainly, spite your holy song.
The spurs clank on your heel."

At these words the monk cast off his disguise, and
Gosta Berling stood under the balcony in a knighfs
dress of silk and gold. He heeded not the beauty's
warning, but climbed up one of the balcony supports,
swung himself over the balustrade, and, just as Master
Julius had arranged it, fell on his knees at the lovely
Marianne's feet

THE BALL AT EKEBY 89

Graciously she smiled on him, and gave hini her
hand to kiss, and while the two young people gazed
at one another, absorbed in their love, the curtain
fell.

And before her knelt Gosta Berling, with a face
tender as a poet's and bold as a soldier's, with deep
eyes, which glowed with wit and genius, which im-
plored and constrained. Supple and full of strength
was he, fiery and captivating.

While the curtain went up and down, the two stood
always in the same position, Gosta's eyes held the
lovely Marianne fast; they implored; they con-
strained.

Then the applause ceased ; the curtain hung quiet;
no one saw them.

Then the beautiful Marianne bent down and kissed
Gosta Berling. She did not know why, — she had to.
He stretched up his arms about her head and held
, her fast. She kissed him again and again.

But it was the balcony, it was the moonlight, it
was the lace veil, the knightly dress, the song, the
applause, which were to blame. They had not wished
it. She bad not thrust aside the crowns which had
hovered over her head, and spurned the millions
which lay at her feet, out of love for Gosta Berling;
nor had he already forgotten Anna Stjamhok. No ;
they were blameless; neither of them had wished it.

It was the gentie Lowenborg, — he with the fear in
his eye and the smile on his lips, — who that day was
curtain-raiser. Distracted by the memory of many
sorrows, he noticed little of the things of this world,
and had never learned to look after them rightly.
When he now saw that Gosta and Marianne had
taken a new position, he thought that it also be-

90 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

longed to the tableau, and so he began to drag on
the curtain string.

The two on the balcony observed nothing until a
thunder of applause greeted them.

Marianne started back and wished to flee, but Gosta
held her fast, whispering : —

" Stand still ; they think it belongs to the tableau."

He felt how her body shook with shuddering, and
how the fire of her kisses died out on her lips.

" Do not be afraid," he whispered ; " lovely lips have
a right to kiss."

They had to stand while the curtain went up and
went down, and each time the hundreds of eyes saw
them, hundreds of hands thundered out a stormy
applause.

For it was beautiful to see two fair young people
represent love's happiness. No one could think that
those kisses were anything but stage delusion. No
one guessed that the seflora shook with embarrass-
ment and the knight with uneasiness. No one could
think that it did not all belong to the tableau.

At last Marianne and Gosta stood behind the
scenes.

She pushed her hair back from her forehead.

" I don't understand myself," she said.

" Fie ! for shame. Miss Marianne," said he, grimac-
ing, and stretched out his hands. "To kiss Gosta
Berling ; shame on you ! "

Marianne had to laugh.

"Everyone knows that Gosta Berling is irresistible.
My fault is no greater than others'."

And they agreed to put a good face on it, so that
no one should suspect the truth.

" Can I be sure that the truth will never come out

THE BALL AT EKEBY 91

//!wr Gosta?" she asked, before they went out among
the guests.

" That you can. Gentlemen can hold their tongues.
I promise you that."

She dropped her eyes. A strange smile curved
her lips.

" If the truth should come out, what would people
think of me, Herr Gosta?"

"They would not think anything. They would
know that it meant nothing. They would think that
we entered into our parts and were going on with the
play."

Yet another question, with lowered lids and with
the same forced smile, —

" But you yourself? What do you think about
it, Herr Gosta?"

" I think that you are in love with me," he jested.

" Think no such thing," she smiled, " for then I
must run you through with my stiletto to show you
that you are wroi^."

" Women's kisses are precious," said Gosta.
" Does it cost one's life to be kissed by Marianne
Sinclair ? "

A glance flashed on him from Marianne's eyes, so
sharp that it felt like a blow.

" I could wish to see you dead, Gosta Berling !
dead ! dead ! "

These words revived the old longing in the poef s
blood.

" Ah," he said, " would that those words were more
than words ! — that they were arrows which came
whistling from some dark ambush; that they were
daggers or poison, and had the power to destroy
dlis wretched body and set my soul free I "

92 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERUNG

She was calm and smiling now.

'' Childishness ! '' she said, and took his arm to join
the guests.

They kept their costumes, and their triumphs were
renewed when they showed themselves in front of
the scenes. Every one complimented them. No
one suspected anything.

The ball began again, but Gosta escaped from the
ballroom.

His heart ached from Marianne's glance, as if it
had been wounded by sharp steel. He understood
too well the meaning of her words.

It was a disgrace to love him ; it was a disgrace to
be loved by him, a shame worse than death.

He would never dance again. He wished never to
see them again, those lovely women.

He knew it too well. Those beautiful eyes, those
red cheeks burned not for him. Not for him floated
those light feet, nor rung that low laugh.

Yes, dance with him, flirt with him, that they could
do, but not one of them would be his in earnest.

The poet went into the smoking-room to the old
men, and sat down by one of the card-tables. He
happened to throw himself down by the same table
where the powerful master of Bjorne sat and played
" baccarat *' holding the bank with a great pile of sil-
ver in front of him.

The play was already high. Gosta gave it an even
greater impulse. Green bank-notes appeared, and
always the pile of money grew in front of the power-
ful Melchior Sinclair.

But before Gosta also gathered both coins and
notes, and soon he was the only one who held out
in the struggle against the great land-owner at Bjorne.

THE BALL AT EKEBY 93

Soon the great pile of money changed over from
Melchior Sinclair to Gosta Berling.

" Gosta, my boy," cried the land-owner, laughing,
when he had played away everything he had in his
pocket-book and purse, "what shall we do now?
I am bankrupt, and I never play with borrowed
money. I promised my wife that."

He discovered a way. He played away his watch
and his beaver coat, and was just going to stake his
horse and sledge when Sintram checked him.

"Stake something to win on," he advised him.
" Stake something to turn the luck."

" What the devil have I got? "

" Play your reddest heart's blood, brother Melchior.
Stake your daughter ! "

" You would never venture that," said Grosta, laugh-
ing. "That prize I would never get under my
roof."

Melchior could not help laughing also. He could
not endure that Marianne's name should be men-
tioned at the card-tables, but this was so insanely
ridiculous that he could not be angry. To play
away Marianne to Gosta, yes, that he certainly could
venture.

" That is to say," he explained, " that if you can
win her consent, Gosta, I will stake my blessing to
the marriage on this card."

Gosta staked all his winnings and the play began.
He won, and Sinclair stopped playing. He could
not fight against such bad luck ; he saw that.

The night slipped by ; it was past midnight. The
lovely women's cheeks began to grow pale; curls
hung straight, ruffles were crumpled. The old ladies
rose up from the sofa-corners and said that as they

94 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

had been there twelve hours, it was about time for
them to be thinking of home.

And the beautiful ball should be over, but then
Lilliecrona himself seized the fiddle and struck up
the last polka. The horses stood at the door; the
old ladies were dressed in their cloaks and shawls;
the old men wound their plaids about them and
buckled their galoshes.

But the young people could not tear themselves
from the dance. They danced in their out-door wraps,
and a mad dance it was. As soon as a girl stopped
dancing with one partner, another came and dragged
her away with him.

And even the sorrowful Gosta was dragged into
the whirl. He hoped to dance away grief and hu-
miliation ; he wished to have the love of life in his
blood again ; he longed to be gay, he as well as the
others. And he danced till the walls went round,
and he no longer knew what he was doing.

Who was it he had got hold of in the crowd ? She
was light and supple, and he felt that streams of fire
went from one to the other. Ah, Marianne !

While Gosta danced with Marianne, Sintram sat in
his sledge before the door, and beside him stood
Melchior Sinclair.

The great land-owner was impatient at being forced
to wait for Marianne. He stamped in the snow with
his great snow-boots and beat with his arms, for it
was bitter cold.

" Perhaps you ought not to have played Marianne
away to Gosta," said Sintram.

" What do you mean ? "

Sintram arranged his reins and lifted his whip,
before he answered : —

THE BALL AT EKEBY 95

" It did not belong to the tableau, that kissing."

The powerful land-owner raised his arm for a death-
blow, but Sintram was already gone. He drove away,
whippit^ the horse to a wild gallop without daring to
look back, for Melchior Sinclair had a heavy hand
and short patience.

He went now into the dancing-room to look for his
daughter, and saw how Gosta and Marianne were
dancing.

Wild and giddy was that last polka.

Some of the couples were pale, others glowing
red, dust lay like smoke over the hall, the wax-
candles gleamed, burned down to the sockets, and in
the midst of all the ghostly ruin, they flew on, Gosta
and Marianne, royal in their tireless strength, no
blemish on their beauty, happy in the glorious motion.

Melchior Sinclair watched them for a while; but
then he went and left Marianne to dance. He
slammed the door, tramped down the stairs, and
placed himself in the sledge, where his wife already
waited, and drove home.

When Marianne stopped dancing and asked after
her parents, they were gone.

When she was certain of this she showed no sur-
prise. She dressed herself quietly and went out in
the yard. The ladies in the dressing-room thought
that she drove in her own sledge.

She hurried in her thin satin shoes along the road
without telling any one of her distress.

In the darkness no one recognized her, as she went
by the edge of the road ; no one could think that this
late wanderer, who was driven up into the high drifts
by the passing sledges, was the beautiful Marianne.

When she could go in the middle of the road she

96 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

began to run. She ran as long as she wa» able, then
walked for a while, then ran again. A hideous, tortur-
ing fear drove her on.

From Ekeby to Bjorne it cannot be farther than at
most two miles. Marianne was soon at home, but she
thought almost that she had come the wrong way.
When she reached the house all the doors were closed,
all the lights out; she wondered if her parents had
not come home.

She went forward and twice knocked loudly on the
front door. She seized the door-handle and shook it
till the noise resounded through the whole house.
No one came and opened, but when she let the iron
go, which she had grasped with her bare hands, the
fast-frozen skin was torn from them.

Melchior Sinclair had driven home in order to shut
his door on his only child.

He was drunk with much drinking, wild with rage.
He hated his daughter, because she liked Gosta Ber-
ling. He had shut the servants into the kitchen, and
his wife in the bedroom. With solemn oaths he told
them that the one who let Marianne in, he would beat
to a jelly. And they knew that he would keep his
word.

No one had ever seen him so angry. Such a grief
had never come to him before. Had his daughter
come into his presence, he would perhaps have killed
her.

Golden ornaments, silken dresses had he given her,
wit and learning had been instilled in her. She had
been his pride, his glory. He had been as proud of
her as if she had worn a crown. Oh, his queen, his
goddess, his honored, beautiful, proud Marianne!
Had he ever denied her anything? Had he not always

THE BALL AT EKE BY 97

considered himself too common to be her father?
Oh, Marianne, Marianne !

Ought he not to hate her, when she is in love with
Gosta Berling and kisses him? Should he not cast
her out, shut his door against her, when she will dis-
grace her greatness by loving such a man? Let her
stay at Ekeby, let her run to the neighbors for shelter,
let her sleep in the snow-drifts ; it 's all the same, she
has already been dragged in the dirt, the lovely Mari-
anne. The bloom is gone. The lustre of her life is
gone.

He lies there in his bed, and hears how she beats on
the door. What does thiat matter to him? He is
asleep. Outside stands one who will marry a dis-
missed priest ; he has no home for such a one. If he
had loved her less, if he had been less proud of her,
he could have let her come in.

Yes, his blessing he could not refuse them. He had
played it away. But to open the door for her, that
he would not do. Ah, Marianne !

The beautiful young woman still stood outside the
door of her home. One minute she shook the lock
in powerless rage, the next she fell on her knees,
clasped her mangled hands, and begged for forgiveness.

But no one heard her, no one answered, no one
opened to her.

Oh ! was it not terrible ? I am filled with horror as
I tell of it. She came from a ball whose queen she
had been ! She had been proud, rich, happy; and in
one minute she was cast into such an endless misery.
Shut out from her home, exposed to the cold, — not
scorned, not beaten, not cursed, but shut out with
cold, immovable lovelessness.

Think of the cold, starlit night, which spread its

7

98 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

arch above her, the great wide night with the empty,
desolate snow-fields, with the silent woods. Every-
thing slept, everything was sunk in painless sleep;
only one living point in all that sleeping whiteness.
All sorrow and pain and horror, which otherwise had
been spread over the world, crept forward towards
that one lonely point. O God, to suffer alone in the
midst of this sleeping, ice-bound world !

For the first time in her life she met with unmerci-
fulness and hardness. Her mother would not take the
trouble to leave her bed to save her. The old servants,
who had guided her first steps, heard her and did not
move a finger for her sake. For what crime was she
punished ?

Where should she find compassion, if not at this
door? If she had been a murderess, she would still
have knocked on it, knowing that they would forgive
her. If she had sunk to being the most miserable
of creatures, come wasted and in rags, she would still
confidently have gone up to that door, and expected
a loving welcome. That door was the entrance to
her home ; behind it she could only meet with love.

Had not her father tried her enough? Would they
not soon open to her?

" Father, father ! " she called. " Let me come in ! I
freeze, I tremble. It is terrible out here !

" Mother, mother ! You who have gone so many
steps to serve me, you who have watched so many
nights over me, why do you sleep now? Mother,
mother, wake just this one night, and I will never give
you pain again ! "

She calls, and falls into breathless silence to listen
for an answer. But no one heard her, no one obeyed
her, no one answered.

THE BALL AT EKEBY 99

Then she wrings her hands in despair, but there are
no tears in her eyes.

The long, dark house with its closed doors and
darkened windows lay awful and motionless in the
night What would become of her, who was home-
less? Branded and dishonored was she, as long as
she encumbered the earth. And her father himself
pressed the red-hot iron deeper into her shoulders.

** Father," she called once more, " what will become
of me? People will believe the worst of me."

She wept and suffered ; her body was stiff with
cold.

Alas, that such misery can reach one, who but
lately stood so high ! It is so easy to be plunged into
the deepest suffering ! Should we not fear life ? Who
sails in a safe craft? Round about us swell sorrows
like a heaving ocean ; see how the hungry waves lick
the ship's sides, see how they rage up over her. Ah,
no safe anchorage, no solid ground, no steady ship, as
far as the eye can see ; only an unknown sky over an
ocean of sorrow !

But hush ! At last, at last ! A light step comes
through the hall.

" Is it mother?" asked Marianne.

" Yes, my child."

" May I come in now?"

" Father will not let you come in."

" I have run in the snow-drifts in my thin shoes all
the way from Ekeby. I have stood here an hour and
knocked and called. I am freezing to death out here.
Why did you drive away and leave me?"

" My child, my child, why did you kiss Gosta
Berling?"

'' But father must have seen that I do not like him

100 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

for that. It was in fun. Does he think that I will
marry Gosta?"

** Go to the gardener's house, Marianne, and beg
that you pass the night there. Your father is drunk.
He will not listen to reason. He has kept me a
prisoner up there. I crept out when I thought he
was asleep. He will kill me, if you come in."

** Mother, mother, shall I go to strangers when I
have a home? Are you as hard as father? How can
you allow me to be shut out? I will lay myself in the
drift out here, if you do not let me in."

Then Marianne's mother laid her hand on the lock
to open the door, but at the same moment a heavy
step was heard on the stair, and a harsh voice called
her.

Marianne listened: her mother hurried away, the
harsh voice cursed her and then —

Marianne heard something terrible, — she could
hear every sound in the silent house.

She heard the thud of a blow, a blow with a stick
or a box on the ear ; then she heard a faint noise, and
then again a blow.

He struck her mother, the terrible brutal Melchior
Sinclair struck his wife !

And in pale horror Marianne threw herself down
on the threshold and writhed in anguish. Now she
wept, and her tears froze to ice on the threshold of
her home.

Grace ! pity ! Open, open, that she might bend
her own back under the blows ! Oh, that he could
strike her mother, strike her, because she did not
wish to see her daughter the next day lying dead in
the snow-drift, because she had wished to comfort her
child I

THE BALL AT EKEBY lOI

Great humiliation had come to Marianne that night
She had fancied herself a queen, and she lay there
little better than a whipped slave.

But she rose up in cold rage. Once more she
struck the door with her bloody hand and called : —

"Hear what I say to you, — you, who beat my
mother. You shall weep for this, Melchior Sinclair,
weep ! "

Then she went and laid herself to rest in the snow-
drift. She threw off her cloak and lay in her black vel-
vet dress, easily distinguishable against the white snow.
She lay and thought how her father would come out
the next day on his early morning tour of inspection
and find her there. She only hoped that he himself
might find her.

O Death, pale friend, is it as true as it is consoling,
that I never can escape meeting you? Even to me,
the lowliest of earth's workers, will you come, to loosen
the torn leather shoes from my feet, to take the spade
and the barrow from my hand, to take the working-
dress from my body. With gentle force you lay me
out on a lace-trimmed bed; you adorn me with
draped linen sheets. My feet need no more shoes,
my hands are clad in snow-white gloves, which no
more work shall soil. Consecrated by thee to the
sweetness of rest, I shall sleep a sleep of a thousand
years. Oh deliverer ! The lowliest of earth's laborers
am I, and I dream with a thrill of pleasure of the hour
when I shall be received into your kingdom.

Pale friend, on me you can easily try your strength,
but I tell you that the fight was harder against those
women of the olden days. Life's strength was mighty
in their slender bodies, no cold could cool their hot

102 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

blood. You had laid Marianne on your bed, O
Death, and you sat by her side, as an old nurse sits
by the cradle to lull the child to sleep. You faithful
old nurse, who know what is good for the children
of men, how angry you must be when playmates
come, who with noise and romping wake your sleep-
ing child. How vexed you must have been when
the pensioners lifted the lovely Marianne out of the
bed, when a man laid her against his breast, and
warm tears fell from his eyes on to her face.

At Ekeby all lights were out, and all the guests had
gone. The pensioners stood alone in the bachelors'
wing, about the last half-emptied punch bowl.

Then Gosta rung on the edge of the bowl and made
a speech for you, women of the olden days. To
speak of you, he said, was to speak of the kingdom
of heaven : you were all beauties, ever bright, ever
young, ever lovely and gentle as a mother's eyes
when she looks down on her child. Soft as young
squirrels you hung on your husband's neck, your
voice never trembled with anger, no frowns ruffled
your brow, your white hands were never harsh and
hard. Sweet saints, you were adored images in the
temple of home. Men lay at your feet, offering you
incense and prayers. Through you love worked its
wonders, and round your temples poetry wreathed its
gold, gleaming glory.

And the pensioners sprang up, wild with wine,
wild with his words, with their blood raging. Old
Eberhard and the lazy Christopher drew back from
the sport. In the wildest haste the pensioners har-
nessed horses to sledges and hurried out in the cold
night to pay homage to those who never could be

THE BALL AT EKEBY 103

honored enough, to sing a serenade to each and all of
them who possessed the rosy cheeks and bright eyes
which had just lighted up Ekeby halls.

But the pensioners did not go far on their happy way,
for when they came to Bjorne, they found Marianne
lying in the snow-drift, just by the door of her home.

They trembled and raged to see her there. It
was like finding a worshipped saint lying mangled and
stripped outside the church-door.

Gosta shook his clenched hand at the dark house.
" You children of hate," he cried, " you hail-storms,
you ravagers of God's pleasure-house ! "

Beerencreutz lighted his horn lantern and let it
shine down on the livid face. Then the pensioners
saw Marianne's mangled hands, and the tears which
had frozen to ice on her eyelashes, and they wailed
like women, for she was not merely a saintly image,
but a beautiful woman, who had been a joy to their
old hearts.

Gosta Berling threw himself on his knees beside her.

" She is lying here, my bride," he said. " She gave
me the betrothal kiss a few hours ago, and her
father has promised me his blessing. She lies and
waits for me to come and share her white bed."

And Gosta lifted up the lifeless form in his strong
arms.

" Home to Ekeby with her ! " he cried. " Now
she is mine. In the snow-drift I have found her ; no
one shall take her from me. We will not wake them
in there. What has she to do behind those doors,
against which she has beaten her hand into blood ? "

He was allowed to do as he wished. He laid
Marianne in the foremost sledge and sat down at her
side. Beerencreutz sat behind and took the reins.

104 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

" Take snow and rub her, Gosta ! '* he commanded.

The cold had paralyzed her limbs, nothing more.
The wildly agitated heart still beat. She had not
even lost consciousness ; she knew all about the pen-
sioners, and how they had found her, but she could
not move. So she lay stiff and stark in the sledge,
while Gosta Berling rubbed her with snow and alter-
nately wept and kissed, and she felt an infinite long-
ing to be able only to lift a hand, that she might give
a caress in return.

She remembered everything. She lay there stiff
and motionless and thought more clearly than ever
•before. Was she in love with Gosta Berling? Yes,
she was. Was it merely a whim of the moment?
No, it had been for many years. She compared
herself with him and the other people in Varmland.
They were all just like children. They followed
whatever impulse came to them. They only lived
the oufer life, had never looked deep into their souls.
But she had become what one grows to be by living in
the world ; she could never really lose herself in any-
thing. If she loved, yes, whatever she did, one half
of her stood and looked on with a cold scorn. She
had longed for a passion which should carry her
away in wild heedlessness, and now it had come.
When she kissed Gosta Berling on the balcony, for
the first time she had forgotten herself

And now the passion came over her again, her
heart throbbed so that she heard it beat. Should
she not soon be mistress of her limbs? She felt a
wild joy that she had been thrust out from her home.
Now she could be Gosta's without hesitation. How
stupid she had been, to have subdued her love so
many years. Ah, it is so sweet to yield to love.

THE BALL AT EKEBY 105

But shall she never, never be free from these icy
chains? She has been ice within and fire on the sur-
face ; now it is the opposite, a soul of fire in a body
of ice.

Then Gosta feels how two arms gently are raised
about his neck in a weak, feeble pressure.

He could only just feel them, but Marianne thought
that she gave expression to the suppressed passion in
her by a suffocating embrace.

But when Beerencreutz saw it he let the horse go
as it would along the familiar road. He raised his
eyes and looked obstinately and unceasingly at the
Pleiades.

I06 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER VII

THE OLD VEHICLES

If it should happen to you that you are sitting or
lying and reading this at night, as I am writing it
during the silent hours, then do not draw a sigh of
relief here and think that the good pensioners were
allowed to have an undisturbed sleep, after they had
come back with Marianne and made her a good bed
in the best guest-room beyond the big drawing-
room.

They went to bed, and went to sleep, but it was not
their lot to sleep in peace and quiet till noon, as you
and I, dear reader, might have done, if we had been
awake till four in the morning and our limbs ached
with fatigue.

It must not be forgotten that the old major's wife
went about the country with beggar's wallet and stick,
and that it never was her way, when she had anything
to do, to think of a poor tired sinner's convenience.
And now she would do it even less, as she had de-
cided to drive the pensioners that very night from
Ekeby.

Gone was the day when she sat in splendor and
magnificence at Ekeby and sowed happiness over the
earth, as God sows stars over the skies. And while
she wandered homeless about the land, the authority
and honor of the great estate was left in the pension-

THE OLD VEHICLES lO/

ers' hands to be guarded by them, as the wind guards
ashes, as the spring sun guards the snow-drift.

It sometimes happened that the pensioners drove
out, six or eight of them, in a long sledge drawn by-
four horsey, with chiming bells and braided reins. If
they met the major's wife, as she went as a beggar,
they did not turn away their heads.

Clenched fists were stretched against her. By a
violent swing of the sledge, she was forced up into
the drifts by the roadside, and Major Fuchs, the bear-
killer, always took pains to spit three times to take
away the evil effect of meeting the old woman.

They had no pity on her. She was as odious as a
witch to them as she went along the road. If any
mishap had befallen her, they would no more have
grieved than he who shoots off his gun on Easter Eve,
loaded with brass hooks, grieves that he has hit a
witch flying by.

It was to secure their salvation that these unhappy
pensioners persecuted the major's wife. People have
often been cruel and tortured one another with the
greatest hardness, when they have trembled for their
souls.

When the pensioners late at night reeled from the
drinking-tables to the window to see if the night was
calm and clear, they often noticed a dark shadow,
which glided over the grass, and knew that the
major's wife had come to see her beloved home ; then
the bachelors' wing rang with the pensioners' scornful
laughter, and gibes flew from the open windows down
to her.

Verily, lovelessness and arrogance began to take
possession of the penniless adventurers' hearts. Sin-
tram hkd planted hate. Their souls could not have

I08 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

been in greater danger if the major's wife had re-
mained at Ekeby. More die in flight than in battle.

The major's wife cherished no great anger against
the pensioners.

If she had had the power, she would have whipped
them like naughty boys and then granted them her
grace and favor again.

But now she feared for her beloved lands, which
were in the pensioners' hands to be guarded by them, as
wolves guard the sheep, as crows guard the spring grain.

There are many who have suffered the same sor-
row. She is not the only one who has seen ruin come
to a beloved home and well-kept fields fall into decay.
They have seen their childhood's home look at them
like a wounded animal. Many feel like culprits when
they see the trees there wither away, and the paths
covered with tufts of grass. They wish to throw
themselves on their knees in those fields, which once
boasted of rich harvests, and beg them not to blame
them for the disgrace which befalls them. And they
turn away from the poor old horses ; they have not
courage to meet their glance. And they dare not
stand by the gate and see the cattle come home from
pasture. There is no spot on earth so sad to visit as
an old home in ruin.

When I think what that proud Ekeby must have
suffered under the pensioners' rule, I wish that the
plan of the major's wife had been fulfilled, and that
Ekeby had been taken from them.

It was not her thought to take back her dominion
again.

She had only one object, — to rid her home of these
madmen, these locusts, these wild brigands, in whose
path no grass grew.

THE OLD VEHICLES 109

While she went begging about the land and lived
on alms, she continually thought of her mother ; and
the thought bit deep into her heart, that there could
be no bettering for her till her mother lifted the
curse from her shoulders.

No one had ever mentioned the old woman's death,
so she must be still living up there by the iron-works
in the forest. Ninety years old, she still lived in
unceasing labor, watching over her milk-pans in the
summer, her charcoal-kilns in the winter, working
till death, longing for the day when she would have
completed her life's duties.

And the major's wife thought that her mother had
lived so long in order to be able to lift the curse from
her life. That mother could not die who had called
down such misery on her child.

So the major's wife wanted to go to the old woman,
that they might both get rest. She wished to struggle
up through the dark woods by the long river to the
home of her childhood.

Till then she could not rest There were many
who offered her a warm home and all the comforts
of a faithful friendship, but she would not stop any-
where. Grim and fierce, she went from house to
house, for she was weighed down by the curse.

She was going to struggle up to her mother, but
first she wanted to provide for her beloved home.
She would not go and leave it in the hands of light-
minded spendthrifts, of worthless drunkards, of good-
for-nothing dispersers of God's gifts.

Should she go to find on her return her inheritance
gone to waste, her hammers silent, her horses starv-
ing, her servants scattered ? Ah, no, once more she
will rise in her might and drive out the pensioners.

no THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

She well understood that her husband saw with joy
how her inheritance was squandered. But she knew
him enough to understand, also, that if she drove
away his devouring locusts, he would be too lazy to
get new ones. Were the pensioners removed, then
her old bailiff and overseer could carry on the work
at Ekeby in the old grooves.

And so, many nights her dark shadow had glided
along the black lanes. She had stolen in and out of
the cottagers' houses, she had whispered with the
miller and the mill-hands in the lower floor of the
great mill, she had conferred with the smith in the
dark coal-house.

And they had all sworn to help her. The honor
of the great estate should no longer be left in the
hands of careless pensioners, to be guarded as the
wind guards the ashes, as the wolf guards the flock
of sheep.

And this night, when the merry gentlemen had
danced, played, and drunk until they had sunk down
on their beds in a dead sleep, this very night they
must go. She has let them have their good time.
She has sat in the smithy and awaited the end of the
ball. She has waited still longer, until the pensioners
should return from their nocturnal drive. She has
sat in silent waiting, until the message was brought
her that the last light was out in the bachelors' wing
and that the great house slept. Then she rose and
went out.

The major's wife ordered that all the workmen on
the estate should be gathered together up by the
bachelors' wing; she herself went to the house.
There she went to the main building, knocked, and
was let in. The young daughter of the minister at

1
J

THE OLD VEHICLES m

Broby, whom she had trained to be a capable maid-
servant, was there to meet her.

"You are so welcome, madame," said the maid,
and kissed her hand.

" Put out the light ! " said the major's wife. *' Do
you think I cannot find my way without a candle ? "

And then she began a wandering through the silent
house. She went from the cellar to the attic, and
said farewell. With stealthy step they went from
room to room.

The major's wife was filled with old memories. The
maid neither sighed nor sobbed, but tear after tear
flowed unchecked from her eyes, while she followed
her mistress. The major's wife had her open the
linen-closet and silver-chest, and passed her hand over
the fine damask table-cloths and the magnificent sil-
ver service. She felt caressingly the mighty pile of
pillows in the store-closet. She touched all the im-
plements, the looms, the spinning-wheels, and wind-
ing-bobbins. She thrust her hand into the spice-box,
and felt the rows of tallow candles which hung from

the rafters.

" The candles are dry," she said. " They can be

taken down and put away."

She was down in the cellar, carefully lifted the beer-
casks, and groped over the rows of wine bottles.

She went into the pantry and kitchen ; she felt
everything, examined everything. She stretched out
her hand and said farewell to everything in her
house.

Last she went through the rooms. She found the
long broad sofas in their places ; she laid her hand on
the cool slabs of the marble tables, and on the mirrors
with their frames of gilded dancing nymphs.

112 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

** This is a rich house," she said. " A noble man
was he who gave me all this for my own."

In the great drawing-room, where the dance had
lately whirled, the stiff-backed arm-chairs already
stood in prim order against the walls.

She went over to the piano, and very gently struck
a chord.

" Joy and gladness were no strangers here in my
time, either," she said.

She went also to the guest-room beyond. It was
pitch-dark. The major's wife groped with her hands
and came against the maid's face.

"Are you weeping?" she said, for she felt her
hands were wet with tears.

Then the young girl burst out sobbing.

" Madame," she cried, ** madame, they will destroy
everything. Why do you leave us and let the pen-
sioners ruin your house?"

The major's wife drew back the curtain and pointed
out into the yard.

" Is it I who have taught you to weep and lament? "
she cried. "Look out! the place is full of people;
to-morrow there will not be one pensioner left at
Ekeby."

** Are you coming back? " asked the maid.

"My time has not yet come," said the major's
wife. "The highway is my home, and the haystack
my bed. But you shall watch over Ekeby for me,
child, while I am away."

And they went on. Neither of them knew or

thought that Marianne slept in that very room. But

he did not sleep. She was wide awake, heard every-

ling, and understood it all. She had lain there in

A and sung a hymn to Love.

THE OLD VEHICLES II3

" You conqueror, who have taken me out of my-
self," she said, ** I lay in fathomless misery and you
have changed it to a paradise. My hands stuck fast
to the iron latch of the closed door and were torn
and wounded ; on the threshold of my home my tears
lie frozen to pearls of ice. Anger froze my heart
when I heard the blows on my mother's back. In the
cold snow-drift I hoped to sleep away my anger,
but you came. O Love, child of fire, to one who was
frozen by much cold you came. When I compare
my sufferings to the glory won by them, they seem to
me as nothing. I am free of all ties. I have no
father nor mother, no home. People will believe all
evil of me and turn away from me. It has pleased
you to do this, O Love, for why should I stand
higher than my beloved? Hand in hand we will
wander out into the world. Gosta Berling's bride is
penniless; he found her in a snow-drift. We shall
not live in lofty halls, but in a cottage at the edge
of the wood. I shall help him to watch the kiln, I
shall help him to set snares for partridges and hares,
I shall cook his food and mend his clothes. Oh, my
beloved, how I shall long and mourn, while I sit there
alone by the edge of the wood and wait for you ! But
not for the days of riches, only for you ; only you
shall I look for and miss, — your footstep on the forest
path, your joyous song, as you come with your axe
on your shoulder. Oh, my beloved, my beloved ! As
long as my life lasts, I could sit and wait for you."

So she lay and sang hymns to the heart-conquering
god, and never once had closed her eyes in sleep
when the major's wife came in.

When she had gone, Marianne got up and dressed
herself. Once more must she put on the black velvet

8

114 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

dress and the thin satin slippers. She wrapped a
blanket about her like a shawl, and hurried out once
again into the terrible night.

Calm, starlit, and bitingly cold the February night
lay over the earth ; it was as if it would never end.
And the darkness and the cold of that long night
lasted on the earth long, long after the sun had risen,
long after the snow-drifts through which Marianne
wandered had been changed to water.

Marianne hurried away from Ekeby to get help.
She could not let those men who had rescued her
from the snow-drift and opened their hearts and home
to her be hunted away. She went down to Sjo to
Major Samzelius. It would be an hour before she
could be back.

When the major's wife had said farewell to her
home, she went out into the yard, where her people
were waiting, and the struggle began.

She placed them round about the high, narrow
house, the upper stofy of which was the pensioners'
far-famed home, — the great room with the white-
washed walls, the red-painted chests, and the great
folding-table, where playing-cards swim in the spilled
brandy, where the broad beds are hidden by yellow
striped curtains where the pensioners sleep.

And in the stable before full mangers the pension-
ers' horses sleep and dream of the journeys of their
youth. It is sweet to dream when they know that
they never again shall leave the filled cribs, the warm
stalls of Ekeby.

In a musty old carriage-house, where all the
broken-down coaches and worn-out sledges were
stored, was a wonderful collection of old vehicles.

Many are the pensioners who have lived and died

THE OLD VEHICLES IIS

at Ekeby. Their names are forgotten on the earth,
and they have no longer a place in men's hearts;
but the major's wife has kept the vehicles in which
they came to Ekeby, she has collected them all in
the old carriage-house.

And there they stand and sleep, and dust falls thick,
thick over them.

But now in this February night the major's wife
has the door opened to the carriage-house, and
with lanterns and torches she seeks out the vehicles
which belong to Ekeby's present pensioners, — Bee-
rencreutz's old gig, and Orneclou's coach, painted
with coat of arms, and the narrow cutter which had
brought Cousin Christopher.

She does not care if the vehicles are for summer or
winter, she only sees that each one gets his own.

And in the stable they are now awake, all the pen-
sioners* old horses, who had so lately been dreaming
before full mangers. The dream shall be true.

You shall again try the steep hills, and the musty
hay in the sheds of wayside inns, and drunken horse-
dealers' sharp whips, and the mad races on ice so slip-
pery that you tremble only to walk on it.

The old beasts mouth and snort when the bit is
put into their toothless jaws ; the old vehicles creak
and crack. Pitiful infirmity, which should have been
allowed to sleep in peace till the end of the world,
was now dragged out before all eyes; stiff joints, halt-
ing forelegs, spavin, and broken-wind are shown up.

The stable grooms succeed, however, in getting the
horses harnessed ; then they go and ask the major's
wife in what Gosta Berling shall be put, for, as every
one knows, he came to Ekeby in the coal-sledge of
the major's wife.

Il6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

** Put Don Juan in our best sledge," she says, " and
spread over it the bear-skin with the silver claws ! "
And when the grooms grumble, she continues:
" There is not a horse in my stable which I would
not give to be rid of that man, remember that ! "

Well, now the vehicles are waked and the horses
too, but the pensioners still sleep. It is now their
time to be brought out in the winter night ; but it is
a more perilous deed to seize them in their beds than
to lead out stiff-legged horses and shaky old carriages.
They are bold, strong men, tried in a hundred adven-
tures ; they are ready to defend themselves till death ;
it is no easy thing to take them against their will from
out their beds and down to the carriages which shall
carry them away.

The major's wife has them set fire to a hay-stack,
which stands so near the house that the flames must
shine in to where the pensioners are sleeping.

" The hay-stack is mine, all Ekeby is mine," she
says.

And when the stack is in flames, she cries : " Wake
them now ! "

But the pensioners sleep behind well-closed doors.
The whole mass of people begin to cry out that
terrible ** Fire, fire ! " but the pensioners sleep on.

The master-smith's heavy sledge-hammer thunders
against the door, but the pensioners sleep.

A hard snowball breaks the window-pane and flies
into the room, rebounding against the bed-curtains,
but the pensioners sleep.

They dream that a lovely girl throws a handkerchief
at them, they dream of applause from behind fallen
curtains, they dream of gay laughter and the deafen-
ing noise of midnight feasts.

THE OLD VEHICLES 11/

The noise of cannon at their ears, an ocean of ice-
cold water were needed to awake them.

They have bowed, danced, played, acted, and sung.
They are heavy with wine, exhausted, and sleep a
sleep as deep as death's.

This blessed sleep almost saves them.

The people begin to think that this quiet conceals
a danger. What if it means that the pensioners are
already out to get help ? What if it means that they
stand awake, with finger on the trigger, on guard be-
hind windows or door, ready to fall upon the first who
enters?

These men are crafty, ready to fight; they must
mean something by their silence. Who can think it
of them, that they would let themselves be surprised
in their lairs like bears?

The people bawl their " Fire, fire ! " time after time,
but nothing avails.

Then when all are trembling, the major's wife her-
self takes an axe and bursts open the outer door.

Then she rushes alone up the stairs, throws open
the door to the bachelors' wing, and calls into the
room : " Fire ! "

Hers is a voice which finds a better echo in the
pensioners' ears than the people's outcry. Accus-
tomed to obey that voice, twelve men at the same mo-
ment spring from their beds, see the flames, throw on
their clothes, and rush down the stairs out into the yard.

But at the door stands the great master-smith and
two stout mill-hands, and deep disgrace then befalls
the pensioners. Each, as he comes down, is seized,
thrown to the ground, and his feet bound; there-
upon he is carried without ceremony to the vehicle
prepared for him.

uS THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

None escaped ; they were all caught. Beerencreutz,
the grim colonel, was bound and carried away; also
Christian Bergh, the mighty captain, and Eberhard,
the philosopher.

Even the invincible, the terrible Gosta Berlmg was
caught. The major's wife had succeeded.

She was still greater than the pensioners.

They are pitiful to see, as they sit with bound limbs
in the mouldy old vehicles. There are hanging heads
and angry glances, and the yard rings with oaths and
wild bursts of powerless rage.

The major's wife goes from one to the other.

" You shall swear," she says, " never to come back
to Ekeby."

" Begone, hag ! "

" You shall swear," she says, " otherwise I will throw
you into the bachelors' wing, bound as you are, and
you shall burn up in there, for to-night I am going to
burn down the bachelors' wing."

" You dare not do that."

" Dare not ! Is not Ekeby mine ? Ah, you villain !
Do you think I do not remember how you spit at me
on the highway? Did I not long to set fire here just
now and let you all burn up ? Did you lift a finger to
defend me when I was driven from my home? No,
swear now ! "

And she stands there so terrible, although she pre-
tends perhaps to be more angry than she is, and so
many men armed with axes stand about her, that
they are obliged to swear, that no worse misfortune
may happen.

The major's wife has their clothes and boxes brought
down and has their hand-fetters loosened; then the
reins are laid in their hands.

THE OLD VEHICLES . IIQ

But much time has been consumed, and Marianne
has reached Sjo.

The major was no late-riser ; he was dressed when
she came. She met him in the yard ; he had been out
with his bears' breakfast

He did not say anything when he heard her story.
He only went in to the bears, put muzzles on them,
led them out, and hurried away to Ekeby.

Marianne followed him at a distance. She was
dropping with fatigue, but then she saw a bright light
of fire in the sky and was frightened nearly to death.

What a night it was ! A man beats his wife and
leaves his child to freeze to death outside his door.
Did a woman now mean to burn up her enemies ; did
the old major mean to let loose the bears on his own
people?

She conquered her weariness, hurried past the
major, and ran madly up to Ekeby.

She had a good start. When she reached the yard,
she made her way through the crowd. When she
stood in the middle of the ring, face to face with the
major's wife, she cried as loud as she could, —

"The major, the major is coming with the bears !"

There was consternation among the people; all
eyes turned to the major's wife.

** You have gone for him," she said to Marianne.

" Run ! " cried the latter, more earnestly. " Away,
for God's sake ! I do not know what the major is
thinking of, but he has the bears with him."

All stood still and looked at the major's wife.

" I thank you for your help, children," she said
quietly to the people. " Everything which has hap-
pened to-night has been so arranged that no one of
you can be prosecuted by the law or get into trouble

120 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE R LING

for it. Go home now ! I do not want to see any of
my people murder or be murdered. Go now ! "

Still the people waited.

The major's wife turned to Marianne.

" I know that you are in love," she said. " You
act in love's madness. May the day never come
when you must look on powerless at the ruin of
your home ! May you always be mistress over your
tongue and your hand when anger fills the soul ! "

" Dear children, come now, come ! " she continued,
turning to the people. " May God protect Ekeby !
I must go to my mother. Oh, Marianne, when you
have got back your senses, when Ekeby is ravaged,
and the land sighs in want, think on what you have
done this night, and look after the people ! "

Thereupon she went, followed by her people.

When the major reached the yard, he found there
no living thing but Marianne and a long line of
horses with sledges and carriages, — a long dismal line,
where the horses were not worse than the vehicles,
nor the vehicles worse than their owners. Ill-used
in the struggle of life were they all.

Marianne went forward and freed them.

She noticed how they bit their lips and looked
away. They were ashamed as never before. A
great disgrace had befallen them.

** I was not better off when I lay on my knees on
the steps at Bjorne a couple of hours ago," said
Marianne.

And so, dear reader, what happened afterwards
that night — how the old vehicles were put into the
carriage-house, the horses in the stable, and the pen-
sioners in their house — I shall not try to relate. The
dawn began to appear over the eastern hills, and

THE OLD VEHICLES 121

the day came clear and calm. How much quieter
the bright, sunny days are than the dark nights,
under whose protecting wings beasts of prey hunt
and owls hoot!

I will only say that when the pensioners had gone
in again and had found a few drops in the last punch-
bowl to fill their glasses, a sudden ecstasy came over
them.

" A toast for the major's wife ! " they cried.

Ah, she is a matchless woman ! What better could
they wish for than to serve her, to worship her?

Was it not sad that the devil had got her in his
power, and that all her endeavors were to send poor
gentlemen's souls to hell?

122 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

CHAPTER VIII
THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CLIFF

In the darkness of the forests dwell unholy creat-
ures, whose jaws are armed with horrible, glittering
teeth or sharp beaks, whose feet have pointed claws,
which long to sink themselves in a blood-filled throat,
and whose eyes shine with murderous desires.

There the wolves live, who come out at night and
hunt the peasant's sledge until the wife must take
her little child, which sits upon her knee, and throw
it to them, to save her own and her husband's life.

There the lynx lives, which the people call " gopa,**
for in the woods at least it is dangerous to call it by
its right name. He who speaks of it during the day
had best see that the doors and windows of the
sheep-house are well closed towards night, for other-
wise it will come. It climbs right up the walls, for
its claws are strong as steel nails, glides in through
the smallest hole, and throws itself on the sheep.
And " gopa " hangs on their throats, and drinks their
blood, and kills and tears, till every sheep is dead.
He does not cease his wild death-dance among the
terrified animals as long as any of them show a sign
of life.

And in the morning the peasant finds all the sheep
lying dead with torn throats, for "gopa" leaves
nothing living where he ravages.

\

\

\

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CLIFF 1 23

There the great owl lives, which hoots at dusk. If
one mimics him, he comes whizzing down with out-
spread wings and strikes out one's eyes, for he is no
real bird, but an evil spirit

And there lives the most terrible of them all, the
bear, who has the strength of twelve men, and who,
when he becomes a devil, can be killed only with a
silver bullet.

And if one should chance to meet him in the wood,
big and high as a wandering cliff, one must not run,
nor defend one's self; one must throw one's self down
on the ground and pretend to be dead. Many small
children have imagined themselves lying on the
ground with the bear over them. He has rolled
them over with his paw, and they have felt his hot
breath on their faces, but they have lain quiet, until
he has gone away to dig a hole to bury them in.
Then they have softly raised themselves up and
stolen away, slowly at first, then in mad haste.

But think, think if the bear had not thought them
really dead, but had taken a bite, or if he had been
very hungry and wanted to eat them right up, or if
he had seen them when they moved and had run
after them. O God !

Terror is a witch. She sits in the dimness of the
forest, sings magic songs to people, and fills their
hearts with frightful thoughts. From her comes
that deadly fear which weighs down life and darkens
the beauty of smiling landscapes. Nature is malig-
nant, treacherous as a sleeping snake ; one can be-
lieve nothing. There lies Lofven's lake in brilliant
beauty; but trust it not, it lures to destruction.
Every year it must gather its tribute of the drowned.
There lies the wood temptingly peaceful ; but trust it

\

124 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

not ! The wood is full of unholy things, beset with
evil spirits and bloodthirsty vagrants' souls.

Trust not the brook with its gliding waters. It is
sudden sickness and death to wade in it after sunset.
Trust not the cuckoo, who sings so gayly in the
spring. In the autumn he becomes a hawk with
fierce eyes and terrible claws. Trust not the moss,
nor the heather, nor the rock. Nature is evil, full of
invisible powers, who hate man. There is no spot
where you can set your foot in safety ; it is wonderful
that your weak race can escape so much persecution.

Terror is a witch. Does she still sit in the dark-
ness of the woods of Varmland? Does she still
darken the beauty of smiling places, does she still
dampen the joy of living? Great her power has
been. I know it well, who have put steel in the
cradle and a red-hot coal in the bath ; I know it, who
have felt her iron hand around my heart.

But no one shall think that I now am going to
relate anything terrible or dreadful. It is only an
old story of the great bear in Gurlitta Cliff which I
must tell; and any one can believe it or not, as it
always is with hunting stories.

The great bear has its home on the beautiful
mountain summit which is called Gurlitta Cliff, and
which raises itself precipitously from the shores of
the Lofven.

The roots of a fallen pine between which tufts of
moss are hanging make the walls and roof of his
dwelling, branches and twigs protect it, the snow
makes it warm. He can lie there and sleep a good
quiet sleep from summer to summer.

Is he, then, a poet, a dreamer, this hairy monarch

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CUFF 125

of the forest? Will he sleep away the cold winter's
chill nights and colorless days to be waked by purling
brooks and the song of birds ? Will he lie there and
dream of blushing cranberry bogs, and of ant-hills
filled with brown delicious creatures, and of the white
lambs which graze on the green slopes? Does he
want, happy one ! to escape the winter of life ?

Outside the snow-storm rages; wolves and foxes
wander about, mad with hunger. Why shall the
bear alone sleep ? Let him get up and feel how the
cold bites, how heavy it is to wade in deep snow.

He has bedded himself in so well. He is like the
sleeping princess in the fairy tale; and as she was
waked by love, so will he be waked by the spring.
By a ray of sunlight which penetrates through the
twigs and warms his nose, by the drops of melting
snow which wet his fur, will he be waked. Woe to
him who untimely disturbs him !

He hears, suddenly, shouts, noise, and shots. He
shakes the sleep out of his joints, and pushes aside the
branches to see what it is. It is not spring, which
rattles and roars outside his lair, nor the wind, which
overthrows pine-trees and casts up the driving snow,
but it is the pensioners, the pensioners from Ekeby,
old acquaintances of the forest monarch. He re-
membered well the night when Fuchs and Beeren-
creutz sat and dozed in a Nygard peasant's barn, where
they awaited a visit from him. They had just fallen
asleep over their brandy-bottle, when he swung him-
self in through the peat-roof; but they awoke, when
he was trying to lift the cow he had killed out of the
stall, and fell upon him with gun and knife. They
took the cow from him and one of his eyes, but he
saved his life.

126 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Yes, verily the pensioners and he are old acquaint-
ances. He remembered how they had come on him
another time, when he and his queen consort had
just laid themselves down for their winter sleep in the
old lair here on Gurlitta Cliff and had young ones in
the hole. He remembered well how they came on
them unawares. He got away all right, throwing to
either side everything that stood in his path ; but he
must limp for life from a bullet in his thigh, and
when he came back at night to the royal lair, the
snow was red with his queen consort's blood, and the
royal children had been carried away to the plain, to
grow up there and be man's servants and friends.

Yes, now the ground trembles ; now the snow-drift
which hides his lair shakes ; now he bursts out, the
great bear, the pensioners' old enemy. Look out,
Fuchs, old bear-killer; look out now, Beerencreutz ;
look out, Gosta Berling, hero of a hundred ad-
ventures !

Woe to all poets, all dreamers, all heroes of
romance ! There stands Gosta Berling with finger on
trigger, and the bear comes straight towards him.
Why does he not shoot? What is he thinking of?

Why does he not send a bullet straight into the
broad breast? He stands in just the place to do it.
The others are not placed right to shoot. Does he
think he is on parade before the forest monarch ?

Gosta of course stood and dreamed of the lovely
Marianne, who is lying at Ekeby dangerously ill, from
the chill of that night when she slept in the snow-drift.

He thinks of her, who also is a sacrifice to the
curse of hatred which overlies the earth, and he
shudders at himself, who has come out to pursue and
to kill.

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CLIFF 127

And there comes the great bear right towards him,
blind in one eye from the blow of a pensioner's knife,
lame in one leg from a bullet from a pensioner's gun,
fierce and shaggy, alone, since they had killed his
wife and carried away his children. And Gosta sees
him as he is, — a poor, persecuted beast, whom he will
not deprive of life, all he has left, since people have
taken from him everything else.

" Let him kill me," thinks Gosta, " but I will not
shoot."

And while the bear breaks his way towards him, he
stands quite still as if on parade, and when the forest
monarch stands directly in front of him, he presents
arms and takes a step to one side.

The bear continues on his way, knowing too well
that he has no time to waste, breaks into the wood,
ploughs his way through drifts the height of a man,
rolls down the steep slopes, and escapes, while all of
them, who had stood with cocked guns and waited for
Gosta's shot, shoot off their guns after him.

But it is of no avail ; the ring is broken, and the bear
gone. Fuchs scolds, and Beerencreutz swears, but
Gosta only laughs.

How could they ask that any one so happy as he
should harm one of God's creatures?

The great bear of Gurlitta Cliff got away thus with
his life, and he is waked from his winter sleep, as the
peasants will find. No bear has greater skill than he
to tear apart the roofs of their low, cellar-like cow-
bams ; none can better avoid a concealed ambush.

The people about the upper Lofven soon were at
their wits' end about him. Message after message
was sent down to the pensioners, that they should
come and kill the bear.

128 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Day after day, night after night, during the whole of
February, the pensioners scour the upper Lofven to
find the bear, but he always escapes them. Has he
learned cunning from the fox, and swiftness from the
wolf? If they lie in wait at one place, he is ravaging
the neighboring farmyard; if they seek him in the
wood, he is pursuing the peasant, who comes driving
over the ice. He has become the boldest of maraud-
ers : he creeps into the garret and empties the house-
wife's honey-jar; he kills the horse in the peasant's
sledge.

But gradually they begin to understand what kind
of a bear he is and why Gosta could not shoot him.
Terrible to say, dreadful to believe, this is no ordinary
bear. No one can hope to kill him if he does not
have a silver bullet in his gun. A bullet of silver and
bell-metal cast on a Thursday evening at new moon
in the church-tower without the priest or the sexton
or anybody knowing it would certainly kill him, but
such a one is not so easy to get.

There is one man at Ekeby who, more than all the
rest, would grieve over all this. It is, as one can
easily guess, Anders Fuchs, the bear-killer. He loses
both his appetite and his sleep in his anger at not be-
ing able to kill the great bear in Gurlitta Cliff. At last
even he understands that the bear can only be killed
with a silver bullet.

The grim Major Anders Fuchs was not handsome.
He had a heavy, clumsy body, and a broad, red face,
with hanging bags under his cheeks and several
double chins. His small black moustache sat stiff as
a brush above his thick lips, and his black hair stood
out rough and thick from his head. Moreover, he was

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CUFF 1 29

a man of few words and a glutton. He was not a
person whom women meet with sunny smile and open
arms, nor did he give them tender glances back again.
One could not believe that he ever would see a
woman whom he could tolerate, and everything
which concerned love and enthusiasm was foreign to
him.

One Thursday evening, when the moon, just two
fingers wide, lingers above the horizon an hour or two
after the sun has gone down. Major Fuchs betakes
himself from Ekeby without telling any one where he
means to go. He has flint and steel and a bullet-
mould in his hunting-bag, and his gun on his back, and
goes up towards the church at Bro to see what luck
there may be for an honest man.

The church lies on the eastern shore of the narrow
sound between the upper and lower Lofven, and
Major Fuchs must go over a bridge to get there. He
wends his way towards it, deep in his thoughts, with-
out looking up towards Broby hi!!, where the houses
cut sharply against the clear evening sky; he only
looks on the ground, and wonders how he shall get
hold of the key of the church without anybody's
knowing it.

When he comes down to the bridge, he hears some
one screaming so despairingly that he has to look
up.

At that time the little German, Faber, was organist
at Bro. He was a slender man, small in body and
mind. And the sexton was Jan Larsson, an energetic
peasant, but poor, for the Broby clergyman had
cheated him out of his patrimony, five hundred rix-
dollars.

The sexton wanted to marry the organist's sister,

130 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

the little, delicate maiden Faber, but the organist
would not let him have her, and therefore the two
were not good friends. That evening the sexton has
met the organist as he crossed the bridge and has
fallen upon him. He seizes him by the shoulder, and
holding him at arm's length out over the railing tells
him solemnly that he shall drop him into the sound
if he does not give him the little maiden. The little
German will not give in ; he struggles and screams,
and reiterates " No," although far below him he
sees the black water rushing between the white
banks.

** No, no," he screams ; " no, no ! "

And it is uncertain if the sexton in his rage would
have let him down into the cold black water if
Major Fuchs had not just then come over the bridge.
The sexton is afraid, puts Faber down on solid ground,
and runs away as fast as he can.

Little Faber falls on the major's neck to thank him
for his life, but the major pushes him away, and says
that there is nothing to thank him for. The major
has no love for Germans, ever since he had his
quarters at Putbus on the Riigen during the Pome-
ranian war. He had never so nearly starved to death
as in those days.

Then little Faber wants to run up to the bailiff
Scharling and accuse the sexton of an attempt at
murder, but the major lets him know that it is of no
use here in the country, for it does not count for
anything to kill a German.

Little Faber grows calmer and asks the major to
come home with him to eat a bit of sausage and to
taste his home-brewed ale.

The major follows him, for he thinks that the

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CLIFF 131

organist must haVe a key to the church-door ; and so
they go up the hill, where the Bro church stands,
with the vicarage, the sexton's cottage and the
organist's house round about it

" You must excuse us," says little Faber, as he and
the major enter the house. " It is not really in order
to-day. We have had a little to do, my sister and I.
We have killed a cock."

" The devil ! " cries the major.

The little maid Faber has just come in with the ale
in great earthen mugs. Now, every one knows that
the major did not look upon women with a tender
glance, but this little maiden he had to gaze upon
with delight, as she came in so neat in lace and cap.
Her light hair lay combed so smooth above her fore-
head, the home-woven dress was so pretty and so
dazzlingly clean, her little hands were so busy and
eager, and her little face so rosy and round, that he
could not help thinking that if he had seen such a
little woman twenty-five years ago, he must have
come forward and offered himself

She is so pretty and rosy and nimble, but her eyes
are quite red with weeping. It is that which suggests
such tender thoughts.

While the men eat and drink, she goes in and out
of the room. Once she comes to her brother, cour-
tesies, and says, —

" How do you wish me to place the cows in the
stable?"

" Put twelve on the left and eleven on the right,
then they can't gore one another."

" Have you so many cows, Faber? " bursts out the
major.

The fact was that the organist had only two cows,

132 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

but he called one eleven and the other twelve, that it
might sound fine, when he spoke of them.

And then the major hears that Faber's barn is
being altered, so that the cows are out all day and
at night are put into the woodshed.

The little maiden comes again to her brother,
courtesies to him, and says that the carpenter had
asked how high the barn should be made.

" Measure by the cows," says the organist, " meas-
ure by the cows ! "

Major Fuchs thinks that is such a good answer.
However it comes to pass, the major asks the organist
why his sister's eyes are so red, and learns that she
weeps because he will not let her marry the penniless
sexton, in debt and without inheritance as he is.

Major Fuchs grows more and more thoughtful.
He empties tankard after tankard, and eats sausage
after sausage, without noticing it. Little Faber is
appalled at such an appetite and thirst; but the more
the major eats and drinks, the clearer and more de-
termined his mind grows. The more decided becomes
his resolution to do something for the little maiden
Faber.

He has kept his eyes fixed on the great key which
hangs on a knob by the door, and as soon as little
Faber, who has had to keep up with the major in
drinking the home-brewed ale, lays his head on the
table and snores, Major Fuchs has seized the key,
put on his cap, and hurried away.

A minute later he is groping his way up the tower
stairs, lighted by his little horn lantern, and comes at
last to the bell-room, where the bells open their wide
throats over him. He scrapes off a little of the bell-
metal with a file, and is just going to take the bullet-

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CLIFF 133

mould and melting-ladle out of his hunting-bag, when
he finds that he has forgotten what is most important
of all : he has no silver with him. If there shall be
any power in the bullet, it must be cast there in the
tower. Everything is right; it is Thursday evening
and a new moon, and no one has any idea he is there,
and now he cannot do anything. He sends forth
into the silence of the night an oath with such a ring
in it that the bells hum.

Then he hears a slight noise down in the church
and thinks he hears steps on the stairs. Yes, it is
true, heavy steps are coming up the stairs.

Major Fuchs, who stands there and swears so that
the bells vibrate, is a little thoughtful at that. He
wonders who it can be who is coming to help him
with the bullet-casting. The steps come nearer and
nearer. Whoever it is, is coming all the way up to
the bell-room.

The major creeps far in among the beams and
rafters, and puts out his lantern. He is not exactly
afraid, but the whole thing would be spoiled if any
one should see him there. He has scarcely had time
to hide before the new-comer's head appears above
the floor.

The major knows him well ; it is the miserly Broby
minister. He, who is nearly mad with greed, has the
habit of hiding his treasures in the strangest places.
He comes now with a roll of bank-notes which he is
going to hide in the tower-room. He does not know
that any one sees him. He lifts up a board in the
floor and puts in the money and takes himself off
again.

The major is not slow ; he lifts up the same board.
Oh, so much money f Package after package of

134 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

bank-notes, and among them brown leather bags, full
of silver. The major takes just enough silver to make
a bullet ; the rest he leaves.

When he comes down to the earth again, he has
the silver bullet in his gun. He wonders what luck
has in store for him that night. It is marvellous on
Thursday nights, as every one knows. He goes up
towards the organist's house. Fancy if the bear
knew that Faber's cows are in a miserable shed, no
better than under the bare sky.

What! surely he sees something black and big
coming over the field towards the woodshed ; it must
be the bear. He puts the gun to his cheek and is
just going to shoot, but then he changes his mind.

The little maid's red eyes come before him in the
darkness; he thinks that he will help her and the
sexton a little, but it is hard not to kill the great bear
himself, He said afterwards that nothing in the world
had ever been so hard, but as the little maiden was
so dear and sweet, it had to be done.

He goes up to the sexton's house, wakes him, drags
him out, half dressed and half naked, and says that
he shall shoot the bear which is creeping about out-
side of Faber's woodshed.

" If you shoot the bear, he will surely give you his
sister," he says, " for then you will be a famous man.
That is no ordinary bear, and the best men in the
country would consider it an honor to kill it."

And he puts into his hand his own gun, loaded with
a bullet of silver and bell-metal cast in a church
tower on a Thursday evening at the new moon, and
he cannot help trembling with envy that another
than he shall shoot the great forest monarch, the old
bear of Gurlitta Cliff.

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURLITTA CLIFF 135

The sexton aims, — God help us ! aims, as if he
meant to hit the Great Bear, which high up in the sky
wanders about the North Star, and not a bear wan-
dering on the plain, — and the gun goes off with a
bang which can be heard all the way to Gurlitta Cliff.

But however he has aimed, the bear falls. So it is
when one shoots with a silver bullet. One shoots
the bear through the heart, even if one aims at the
Dipper.

People come rushing out from all the neighboring
farmyards and wonder what is going on, for never
had a shot sounded so loud nor waked so many
sleeping echoes as this one, and the sexton wins much
praise, for the bear had been a real pest.

Little Faber comes out too, but now is Major
Fuchs sadly disappointed. There stands the sexton
covered with glory, besides having saved Faber's cows,
but the little organist is neither touched nor grateful.
He does not open his arms to him and greet him as
brother-in-law and hero.

The major stands and frowns and stamps his foot in
rage over such smallness. He wants to explain to
the covetous, narrow-minded little fellow what a deed
it is, but he begins to stammer, so that he cannot get
out a word. And he gets angry and more angry at
the thought that he has given up the glory of killing
the great bear in vain.

Oh, it is quite impossible for him to comprehend
that he who had done such a deed should not be
worthy to win the proudest of brides.

The sexton and some of the young men are going
to skin the bear; they go to the grindstone and
sharpen the knives. Others go in and go to bed.
Major Fuchs stands alone by the dead bear.

136 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Then he goes to the church once more, puts the
key again in the lock, climbs up the narrow stairs and
the twisted ladder, wakes the sleeping pigeons, and
once more comes up to the tower-room.

Afterwards, when the bear is skinned under the
major's inspection, they find between his jaws a
package of notes of five hundred rix-doUars. It is
impossible to say how it came there, but of course it
was a marvellous bear ; and as the sexton had killed
him, the money is his, that is very plain.

When it is made known, little Faber too under-
stands what a glorious deed the sexton has done, and
he declares that he would be proud to be his brother-
in-law.

On Friday evening Major Anders Fuchs returns to
Ekeby, after having been at a feast, in honor of the
lucky shot, at the sexton's and an engagement dinner
at the organist's. He follows the road with a heavy
heart ; he feels no joy that his enemy is dead, and
no pleasure in the magnificent bear-skin which the
sexton has given him.

Many perhaps will believe that he is grieving that
the sweet little maiden shall be another's. Oh no,
that causes him no sorrow. But what goes to his very
heart is that the old, one-eyed forest king is dead,
and it was not he who shot the silver bullet at him.

So he comes into the pensioners' wing, where the
pensioners are sitting round the fire, and without a
word throws the bear-skin down among them. Let
no one think that he told about that expedition ; it
was not until long, long after that any one could get
out of him the truth of it. Nor did he betray the
Broby clergyman's hiding-place, who perhaps never
noticed the theft.

THE GREAT BEAR IN GURUTTA CUFF 137

The pensioners examine the skin.

" It is a fine skin," says Beerencreutz. " I would
like to know why this fellow has come out of his
winter sleep, or perhaps you shot him in his hole? "

" He was shot at Bro,"

" Yes, as big as the Gurlitta bear he never was,"
says Gosta, " but he has been a fine beast."

" If he had had one eye," says Kevenhiiller, " I would
have thought that you had killed the old one himself,
he is so big; but this one has no wound or inflamma-
tion about his eyes, so it cannot be the same."

Fuchs swears over his stupidity, but then his face
lights up so that he is really handsome. The great
bear has not been killed by another man's bullet.

" Lord God, how good thou art ! " he says, and
folds his hands.

i THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

CHAPTER IX

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE

We young people often had to wonder at the old
people's tales. ** Was there a ball every day, as long
as your radiant youth lasted?" we asked them.
" Was life then one long adventure? "

"Were all young women beautiful and lovely in
those days, and did every feast end by Grosta Berling
' carrying off one of them ? "

Then the old people shook their worthy heads, and
began to tell of the whirring of the spinning-wheel and
the clatter of the loom, of work in the kitchen, of
the thud of the flail and the path of the axe through
the forest ; but it was not long before they harked
back to the old theme. Then sledges drove up to
the door, horses speeded away through the dark
woods with the joyous young people ; then the dance
whirled and the violin-strings snapped. Adventure's
wild chase roared about Lofven's long lake with thun-
der and crash. Far away could its noise be heard.
The forest tottered and fell, all the powers of destruc-
tion were let loose ; fire flamed out, floods laid
waste the land, wild beasts roamed starving about the
farmyards. Under the light-footed horses' hoofs all
quiet happiness was trampled to dust. Wherever
the hunt rushed by, men's hearts flamed up in mad-
ness, and the women in pale terror had to flee from
their homes.

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 1 39

And we young ones sat wondering, silent, troubled,
but blissful. " What people ! " we thought. " We
shall never see their like."

" Did the people of those days never think of what
they were doing? " we asked.

"Of course they thought, children," answered the
old people.

** But not as we think," we insisted.

But the old people did not understand what we
meant.

But we thought of the strange spirit of self-con-
sciousness which had already taken possession of us.
We thought of him, with his eyes of ice and his long,
bent fingers, — he who sits there in the souFs darkest
corner and picks to pieces our being, just as old
women pick to pieces bits of silk and wool.

Bit by bit had the long, hard, crooked fingers
picked, until our whole self lay there like a pile of
rags, and our best impulses, our most original
thoughts, everything which we had done and said,
had been examined, investigated, picked to pieces,
and the icy eyes had looked on, and the toothless
mouth had laughed in derision and whispered, —

** See, it is rags, only rags."

There was also one of the people of that time who
had opened her soul to the spirit with the icy eyes.
In one of them he sat, watching the causes of all
actions, sneering at both evil and good, understand-
ing everything, condemning nothing, examining, seek-
ing out, picking to pieces, paralyzing the emotions of
the heart and the power of the mind by sneering
unceasingly.

The beautiful Marianne bore the spirit of intro-
spection within her. She felt his icy eyes and sneers

I40 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

follow every step, every word. Her life had become
a drama where she was the only spectator. She had
ceased to be a human being, she did not suffer, she
was not glad, nor did she love ; she carried out the
beautiful Marianne Sinclair's r61e, and self-conscious-
ness sat with staring, icy eyes and busy, picking
fingers, and watched her performance.

She was divided into two halves. Pale, unsympa-
thetic, and sneering, one half sat and watched what
the other half was doing ; and the strange spirit who
picked to pieces her being never had a word of feel-
ing or sympathy.

But where had he been, the pale watcher of the
source of deeds, that night, when she had learned to
know the fulness of life? Where was he when she,
the sensible Marianne, kissed Gosta Berling before a
hundred pairs of eyes, and when in a gust of passion
she threw herself down in the snow-drift to die?
Then the icy eyes were blinded, then the sneer was
weakened, for passion had raged through her soul.
The roar of adventure's wild hunt had thundered in
her ears. She had been a whole person during that
one terrible night.

Oh, you god of self-mockery, when Marianne with
infinite difficulty succeeded in lifting her stiffened
arms and putting them about Gosta's neck, you too,
like old Beerencreutz, had to turn away your eyes
from the earth and look at the stars.

That night you had no power. You were dead
while she sang her love-song, dead while she hurried
down to Sjo after the major, dead when she saw the
flames redden the sky over the tops of the trees.

For they had come, the mighty storm-birds, the
griffins of demoniac passions. With wings of fire and

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE I4I

claws of steel .they had come swooping down over
you, you icy-eyed spirit; they had struck their claws
into your neck and flung you far into the unknown.
You have been dead and crushed.

But now they had rushed on, — they whose course
no sage can predict, no observer can follow; and
out of the depths of the unknown had the strange
spirit of self-consciousness again raised itself and had
once again taken possession of Marianne's soul.

During the whole of February Marianne lay ill at
Ekeby. When she sought out the major at Sjo she
had been infected with small-pox. The terrible ill-
ness had taken a great hold on her, who had been so
chilled and exhausted. Death had come very near
to her, but at the end of the month she had recov-
ered. She was still very weak and much disfig-
ured. She would never again be called the beautiful
Marianne.

This, however, was as yet only known to Marianne
and her nurse. The pensioners themselves did not
know it. The sick-room where small-pox raged was
not open to any one.

But when is the introspective power greater than
during the long hours of convalescence? Then the
fiend sits and stares and stares with his icy eyes, and
picks and picks with his bony, hard fingers. And
if one looks carefully, behind him sits a still paler
creature, who stares and sneers, and behind him an-
other and still another, sneering at one another and
at the whole world.

And while Marianne lay and looked at herself
with all these staring icy eyes, all natural feelings
died within her.

She lay there and played she was ill ; she lay there

142 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

and played she was unhappy, in love, longing for
revenge.

She was it all, and still it was only a play. Every-
thing became a play and unreality under those icy
eyes, which watched her while they were watched by a
pair behind them, which were watched by other pairs
in infinite perspective.

All the energy of life had died within her. She
had found strength for glowing hate and tender love
for one single night, not more.

She did not even know if she loved Gosta Berling.
She longed to see him to know if he could take her
out of herself.

While under the dominion of her illness, she had
had only one clear thought : she had worried lest her
illness should be known. She did not wish to see
her parents; she wished no reconciliation with her
father, and she knew that he would repent if^he
should know how ill she was. Therefore she ordered
that her parents and every one else should only
know that the troublesome irritation of the eyes,
which she always had when she visited her native
country, forced her to sit in a darkened room. She
forbade her nurse to say how ill she was ; she forbade
the pensioners to go after the doctor at Karlstad.
She had of course small-pox, but only very lightly;
in the medicine-chest at Ekeby there were remedies
enough to save her life.

She never thought of death; she only lay and
waited for health, to be able to go to the clergyman
with Gosta and have the banns published.

But now the sickness and the fever were gone.
She was once more cold and sensible. It seemed to
her as if she alone was sensible in this world of fools.

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 143

She neither hated nor loved. She understood her
father; she understood them all. He wh Q>.ixnHf*r4-
stands does not hate. I

She had heard that Melchior Sinclair meant to
have an auction at Bjorne and make way with all his
wealth, that she might inherit nothing after him.
People said that he would make the devastation as
thorough as possible ; first he would sell the furniture
and utensils, then the cattle and implements, and then
the house itself with all its lands, and would put the
money in a bag and sink it to the bottom of the
Lofven. Dissipation, confusion, and devastation
should be her inheritance. Marianne smiled approv-
ingly when she heard it : such was his character, and
so he must act.

It seemed strange to her that she had sung that
great hymn to love. She had dreamed of love
in a cottage, as others have done. Now it seemed
odc^to her that she had ever had a dream.

She sighed for naturalness. She was tired of this
continual play. She never had a strong emotion.
She only grieved for her beauty, but she shuddered
at the compassion of strangers.

Oh, one second of forgetfulness of herself! One
gesture, one word, one act which was not calculated !

One day, when the rooms had been disinfected and
she lay dressed on a sofa, she had Gosta Berling
called. They answered her that he had gone to the
auction at Bjorne.

At Bjorne there was in truth a big auction. It was
an old, rich home. People had come long distances
to be present at the sale.

Melchior Sinclair had flung all the property in the

144 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

house together in the great drawing-room. There
lay thousands of articles, collected in piles, which
reached from floor to ceiling.

He had himself gone about the house like an angel
of destruction on the day of judgment, and dragged
together what he wanted to sell. Everything in the
kitchen, — the black pots, the wooden chairs, the pew-
ter dishes, the copper kettles, all were left in peace,
for among them there was nothing which recalled
Marianne; but they were the only things which
escaped his anger.

He burst into Marianne's room, turning everything
out. Her doll-house stood there, and her book-case,
the little chair he had had made for her, her trink-
ets and clothes, her sofa and bed, everything must

go-

And then he went from room to room. He tore

down everything he found unpleasant, and carried great
loads down to the auction-room. He panted under
the weight of sofas and marble slabs ; but he went on.
He had thrown open the sideboards and taken out the
magnificent family silver. Away with it ! Marianne
had touched it He filled his arms with snow-white
damask and with shining linen sheets with hem-
stitching as wide as one's hand, — honest home-made
work, the fruit of many years of labor, — and flung
them down together on the piles. Away with them !
Marianne was not worthy to own them. He stormed
through the rooms with piles of china, not caring if he
broke the plates by the dozen, and he seized the hand-
painted cups on which the family arms were burned.
Away with them ! Let any one who will use them !
He staggered under mountains of bedding from the
attic : bolsters and pillows so soft that one sunk down

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 14S

in them as in a wave. Away with them ! Marianne
had slept on them.

He cast fierce glances on the old, well-known furni-
ture. Was there a chair where she had not sat, or
a sofa which she had not used, or a picture which
she had not looked at, a candlestick which had
not lighted her, a mirror which had not reflected
her features? Gloomily he shook his fist at this
world of memories. He would have liked to have
rushed on them with swinging club and to have
crushed everything to small bits and splinters.

But it seemed to him a more famous revenge to
sell them all at auction. They should go to strangers !
Away to be soiled in the cottagers' huts, to be in the
care of indifferent strangers. Did he not know them,
the dented pieces of auction furniture in the peasants'
houses, fallen into dishonor like his beautiful daughter?
Away with them! May they stand with torn-out
stuffing and worn-off" gilding, with cracked legs and
stained leaves, and long for their former home!
Away with them to the ends of the earth, so that no
eye can find them, no hand gather them together !

When the auction began, he had filled half the hall
with an incredible confusion of piled-up articles.

Right across the room he had placed a long coun-
ter. Behind it stood the auctioneer and put up the
things ; there the clerks sat and kept the record, and
there Melchior Sinclair had a keg of brandy stand-
ing. In the other half of the room, in the hall, and
in the yard were the buyers. There were many
people, and much noise and gayety. The bids fol-
lowed close on one another, and the auction was
lively. But by the keg of brandy, with all his pos-
sessions in endless confusion behind him, sat Melchior

10

146 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

Sinclair, half drunk and half mad. His hair stood
up in rough tufts above his red face ; his eyes were
rolling, fierce, and bloodshot. He shouted and
laughed, as if he had been in the best of moods;
and every one who had made a good bid he called
up to him and offered a dram.

Among those who saw him there was Gosta Ber-
ling, who had stolen in with the crowd of buyers,
but who avoided coming under Melchior Sinclair's
eyes. He became thoughtful at the sight, and his
heart stood still, as at a presentiment of a misfortune.

He wondered much where Marianne's mother could
be during all this. And he went out, against his
will, but driven by fate, to find Madame Gustava
Sinclair.

He had to go through many doors before he found
her. Her husband had short patience and little
fondness for wailing and women's complaints. He
had wearied of seeing her tears flow over the fate
which had befallen her household treasures. He
was furious that she could weep over table and bed
linen, when, what was worse, his beautiful daughter
was lost ; and so he had hunted her, with clenched
fists, before him, through the house, out into the
kitchen, and all the way to the pantry.

She could not go any farther, and he had rejoiced
at seeing her there, cowering behind the step-ladder,
awaiting heavy blows, perhaps death. He let her
stay there, but he locked the door and stuffed the
key in his pocket. She could sit there as long as
the auction lasted. She did not need to starve, and
his ears had rest from her laments.

There she still sat, imprisoned in her own pantry,
when Gosta came through the corridor between the

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 147

kitchen and the dining-room. He saw her face at
a little window high up in the wall. She had climbed
up on the step-ladder, and stood staring out of her
prison.

"What are you doing up there? " asked Gosta.

" He has shut me in," she whispered.

" Your husband ? "

"Yes. I thought he was going to kill me. But
listen, Gosta, take the key of the dining-room door,
and go into the kitchen and unlock the pantry door
with it, so that I can come out That key fits here."

Gosta obeyed, and in a couple of minutes the
little woman stood in the kitchen, which was quite
deserted.

" You should have let one of the maids open the
door with the dining-room key," said Gosta.

"Do you think I want to teach them that trick?
Then I should never have any peace in the pantry.
And, besides, I took this chance to put the upper
shelves in order. They needed it, indeed. I cannot
understand how I could have let so much rubbish
collect there."

" You have so much to attend to," said Gosta.

" Yes, that you may believe. If I were not every-
where, neither the loom nor the spinning-wheel would
be going right. And if — "

Here she stopped and wiped away a tear from the
corner of her eye.

" God help me, how I do talk ! " she said ; " they
say that I won't have anything more to look after.
He is selling everything we have."

" Yes, it is a wretched business," said Gosta.

" You know that big mirror in the drawing-room,
Gosta. It was such a beauty, for the glass was whole

148 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

in it, without a flaw, and there was no blemish at all
on the gilding. I got it from my mother, and now
he wants to sell it."

•* He is mad."

"You may well say so. He is not much better.
He won't stop until we shall have to go and beg on
the highway, we as well as the major's wife."

" It will never be so bad as that," answered Gosta.

"Yes, Gosta. When the major's wife went away
from Ekeby, she foretold misfortune for us, and now
it is coming. She would never have allowed him to
sell Bjorne. And think, his own china, the old Can-
ton cups from his own home, are to be sold. The
major's wife would never have let it happen."

"But what is the matter with him? " asked Gosta.

" Oh, it is only because Marianne has not come
back again. He has waited and waited. He has
gone up and down the avenue the whole day and
waited for her. He is longing himself mad, but I do
not dare to say anything."

" Marianne believes that he is angry with her."

" She does not believe that. She knows him well
enough ; but she is proud and will not take the first
step. They are stiff and hard, both of them, and I
have to stand between them."

" You must know that Marianne is going to marry
me?"

"Alas, Gosta, she will never do that. She says
that only to make him angry. She is too spoiled to
marry a poor man, and too proud, too. Go home
and tell her that if she does not come home soon,
all her inheritance will have gone to destruction.
Oh, he will throw everything away, I know, without
getting anything for it."

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 149

Gosta was really angry with her. There she sat on
a big kitchen table, and had no thought for anything
but her mirrors and her china.

" You ought to be ashamed ! " he burst out. " You
throw your daughter out into a snow-drift, and then
you think that it is only temper that she does not
come back. And you think that she is no better
than to forsake him whom she cares for, lest she
should lose her inheritance."

" Dear Gosta, don't be angry, you too. I don't
know what I am saying. I tried my best to open the
door for Marianne, but he took me and dragged me
away. They all say here that I don't understand
anything. I shall not grudge you Marianne, Gosta, if
you can make her happy. It is not so easy to make
a woman happy, Gosta."

Gosta looked at her. How could he too have
raised his voice in anger against such a person as she,
— terrified and cowed, but with such a good heart !

" You do not ask how Marianne is," he said gently.

She burst into tears.

" Will you not be angry with me if I ask you? " she
said. ** I have longed to ask you the whole time.
Think that I know no more of her than that she is
living. Not one greeting have I had from her the
whole time, not once when I sent clothes to her, and
so I thought that you and she did not want to have
me know anything about her."

Gosta could bear it no longer. He was wild, he
was out of his head, — sometimes God had to send
his wolves after him to force him to obedience, — but
this old woman's tears, this old woman's laments were
harder for him to bear than the howling of the wolve3
He let her know the truth.

ISO THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

" Marianne has been ill the whole time," he said.
" She has had small-pox. She was to get up to-day
and lie on the sofa. I have not seen her since the
first night."

Madame Gustava leaped with one bound to the
ground. She left Gosta standing there, and rushed
away without another word to her husband.

The people in the auction-room saw her come up
to him and eagerly whisper something in his ear.
They saw how his face grew still more flushed, and his
hand, which rested on the cock, turned it round so
that the brandy streamed over the floor.

It seemed to all as if Madame Gustava had come
with such important news that the auction must end
immediately. The auctioneer's hammer no longer
fell, the clerks' pens stopped, there were no new bids.

Melchior Sinclair roused himself from his thoughts.

" Well," he cried, "what is the matter? "

And the auction was in full swing once more.

Gosta still sat in the kitchen, and Madame Gustava
came weeping out to him.

" It 's no use," she said. " I thought he would
stop when he heard that Marianne had been ill ; but
he is letting them go on. He would like to, but now
he is ashamed."

Gosta shrugged his shoulders and bade her fare-
well.

In the hall he met Sintram.

" This is a funny show," exclaimed Sintram, and
rubbed his hands. ** You are a master, Gosta. Lord,
what you have brought to pass ! "

" It will be funnier in a little while," whispered
Gosta. " The Broby clergyman is here with a sledge
full of money. They say that he wants to buy the

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 151

whole of Bjorne and pay in cash. Then I would like
to see Melchior Sinclair, Sintram."
. Sintram drew his head down between his shoulders
and laughed internally a long time. And then he
made his way into the auction-room and up to Mel-
chior Sinclair.

" If you want a drink, Sintram, you must make a
bid first."

Sintram came close up to him.

** You are in luck to-day as always," he said. " A
fellow has come to the house with a sledge full of
money. He is going to buy Bjorne and every-thing
both inside and out. He has told a lot of people
to bid for him. He does not want to show himself
yet for a while."

" You might say who he is ; then I suppose I must
give you a drink for your pains."

Sintram took the dram and moved a couple of
steps backwards, before he answered, —

" They say it is the Broby clergyman, Melchior."

Melchior Sinclair had many better friends than the
Broby clergyman. It had been a life-long feud be-
tween them. There were legends of how he had lain
in wait on dark nights on the roads where the minister
should pass, and how he had given him many an
honest drubbing, the old fawning oppressor of the
peasants.

It was well for Sintram that he had drawn back a
step or two, but he did not entirely escape the big
man's anger. He got a brandy glass between his
eyes and the whole brandy keg on his feet. But then
followed a scene which for a long time rejoiced his
heart.

''Poes the Broby clergyman want my house?"

152 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

roared Melchior Sinclair. ** Do you stand there and
bid on my things for the Broby clergyman? Oh, you
ought to be ashamed ! You ought to know better ! "

He seized a candlestick, and an inkstand, and slung
them into the crowd of people.

All the bitterness of his poor heart at last found ex-
pression. Roaring like a wild beast, he clenched his
fist at those standing about, and slung at them what-
ever missile he could lay his hand on. Brandy
glasses and bottles flew across the room. He did not
know what he was doing in his rage.

" It 's the end of the auction," he cried. " Out with
you ! Never while I live shall the Broby clergyman
have Bjorne. Out ! I will teach you to bid for the
Broby clergyman ! "

He rushed on the auctioneer and the clerks. They
hurried away. In the confusion they overturned the
desk, and Sinclair with unspeakable fury burst into the
crowd of peaceful people.

There was a flight and wildest confusion. A couple
of hundred people were crowding towards the door,
fleeing before a single man. And he stood, roaring
his ** Out with you ! " He sent curses after them,
and now and again he swept about him with a chair,
which he brandished like a club.

He pursued them out into the hall, but no farther.
When the last stranger had left the house, he went
back into the drawing-room and bolted the door after
him. Then he dragged together a mattress and a
couple of pillows, laid himself down on them, went to
sleep in the midst of all the havoc, and never woke till
the next day.

When Gosta got home, he heard that Marianne
wished to speak to him. That was just what he wanted.

THE A UCTION A T BjORNE 1 5 3

He had been wondering how he could get a word with
her.

When he came into the dim room where she lay,
he had to stand a moment at the door. He could not
see where she was.

" Stay where you are, Gosta," Marianne said to
him. " It may be dangerous to come near me."

But G5sta had come up the stairs in t\vo bounds,
trembling with eagerness and longing. What did
he care for the contagion? He wished to have the
bliss of seeing her.

For she was so beautiful, his beloved ! No one had
such soft hair, such an open, radiant brow. Her whole
face was a symphony of exquisite lines.

He thought of her eyebrows, sharply and clearly
drawn like the honey-markings on a lily, and of the
bold curve of her nose, and of her lips, as softly
turned as rolling waves, and of her cheek's long oval
and her chin's perfect shape.

And he thought of the rosy hue of her skin, of the
magical effect of her coal-black eyebrows with her
light hair, and of her blue irises swimming in clear
white, and of the light in her eyes.

She was beautiful, his beloved ! He thought of the
warm heart which she hid under a proud exterior. She
had strength for devotion and self-sacrifice concealed
under that fine skin and her proud words. It was bliss
to see her.

He had rushed up the stairs in two bounds, and she
thought that he would stop at the door. He stormed
through the room and fell on his knees at the head
of her bed.

But he meant to see her, to kiss her, and to bid
Jier farewell.

154 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

He loved her. He would certainly never cease to
love her, but his heart was used to being trampled on.
Oh, where should he find her, that rose without
support or roots, which he could take and call his
own? He might not keep even her whom he had
found disowned and half dead at the roadside.

When should his love raise its voice in a song so
loud and clear that he should hear no dissonance
through it? When should his palace of happiness
be built on a ground for which no other heart longed
restlessly and with regret?

He thought how he would bid her farewell.

" There is great sorrow in your home," he would
say. " My heart is torn at the thought of it You
must go home and give your father his reason again.
Your mother lives in continual danger of death. You
must go home, my beloved."

These were the words he had on his lips, but they
were never spoken.

He fell on his knees at the head of her bed, and he
took her face between his hands and kissed her ; but
then he could not speak. His heart began to beat
so fiercely, as if it would burst his breast.

Small-pox had passed over that lovely face. Her
skin had become coarse and scarred. Never again
should the red blood glow in her cheeks, or the fine
blue veins show on her temples. Her eyebrows had
fallen out, and the shining white of her eyes had
changed to yellow.

Everything was laid waste. The bold lines had
become coarse and heavy.

They were not few who mourned over Marianne
Sinclair's lost beauty. In the whole of Varmland,
people lamented the change in her bright color, har

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 155

sparkling eyes, and blond hair. There beauty was
prized as nowhere else. The joyous people grieved,
as if the country had lost a precious stone from the
crown of its honor, as if their life had received a blot
on its glory.

But the first man who saw her after she had lost
her beauty did not indulge in sorrow.

Unutterable emotion filled his soul. The more
he looked at her, the warmer it grew within him.
Love grew and grew, like a river in the spring. In
waves of fire it welled up in his heart, it filled his
whole being, it rose to his eyes as tears ; it sighed on
his lips, trembled in his hands, in his whole body.

Oh, to love her, to protect her, to keep her from
all harm I

To be her slave, her guide !

Love is strong when it has gone through the bap-
tismal fire of pain. He could not speak to Marianne
of parting and renunciation. He could not leave her
— he owed her his life. He could commit the un-
pardonable sin for her sake.

He could not speak a coherent word, he only wept
and kissed, until at last the old nurse thought it was
time to lead him out.

When he had gone, Marianne lay and thought ot
him and his emotion. " It is good to be so loved,"
she thought.

Yes, it was good to be loved, but how was it with
herself? What did she feel? Oh, nothing, less than
nothing !

Was it dead, her love, or where had it taken flight?
Where had it hidden itself, her heart's child ?

Did it still live? Had it crept into her heart's
darkest corner and sat there freezing under the icy

156 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

eyes, frightened by the pale sneer, half suffocated
under the bony fingers?

" Ah, my love," she sighed, " child of my heart !
Are you alive, or are you dead, dead as my
beauty?"

The next day Melchior Sinclair went in early to
his wife.

" See to it that there is order in the house again,
Gustava ! " he said. " I am going to bring Marianne
home."

" Yes, dear Melchior, here there will of course be
order," she answered.

Thereupon there was peace between them.

An hour afterwards he was on his way to Ekeby.

It was impossible to find a more noble and kindly
old gentleman than Melchior Sinclair, as he sat in
the open sledge in his best fur cloak and his best
rug. His hair lay smooth on his head, but his face
was pale and his eyes were sunken in their sockets.

There was no limit to the brilliancy of the clear
sky on that February day. The snow sparkled like
a young girl's eyes when she hears the music of the
first waltz. The birches stretched the fine lace-work
of their reddish-brown twigs against the sky, and on
some of them hung a fringe of little icicles.

There was a splendor and a festive glow in the
day. The horses prancing threw up their forelegs,
and the coachman cracked his whip in sheer pleasure
of living.

After a short drive the sledge drew up before the
great steps at Ekeby.

The footman came out.

" Where are your masters? " asked Melchior.

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 1 57

" They are hunting the great bear in Gurlitta
Cliff."

"All of them?"

" All of them, sir. Those who do not go for the
sake of the bear go for the sake of the luncheon."

Melchior laughed so that it echoed through the
silent yard. He gave the man a crown for his
answer.

" Go say to my daughter that I am here to take
her home. She need not be afraid of the cold. I
have the big sledge and a wolfskin cloak to wrap
her in."

" Will you not come in, sir? "

" Thank you ! I sit very well where I am."

The man disappeared, and Melchior began his
waiting.

He was in such a genial mood that day that
nothing could irritate him. He had expected to
have to wait a little for Marianne; perhaps she was
not even up. He would have to amuse himself by
looking about him for a while.

From the cornice hung a long icicle, with which
the sun had terrible trouble. It began at the upper
end, melted a drop, and wanted to have it run down
along the icicle and fall to the earth. But before it
had gone half the way, it had frozen again. And the
sun made continual new attempts, which always failed.
But at last a regular freebooter of a ray hung itself
on the icicle's point, a little one, which shone and
sparkled; and however it was, it accomplished its
object, — a drop fell tinkling to the ground.

Melchior looked on and laughed. " You were not
such a fool," he said to the ray of sunlight.

The yard was .quiet and deserted. Not a sound

158 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

was heard in the big house.' But he was not impa-
tient. He knew that women needed plenty of time
to make themselves ready.

He sat and looked at the dove-cote. The birds had
a grating before the door. They were shut in, as
long as the winter lasted, lest hawks should extermi-
nate them. Time after time a pigeon came and stuck
out its white head through the meshes.

**She is waiting for the spring," said Melchior
Sinclair, " but she must have patience for a while."

The pigeon came so regularly that he took out his
watch and followed her, with it in his hand. Exactly
every third minute she stuck out her head.

**No, my little friend," he said, "do you think
spring will be ready in three minutes? You must
learn to wait."

And he had to wait himself; but he had plenty of
time.

The horses first pawed impatiently in the snow, but
then they grew sleepy from standing and blinking in
the sun. They laid their heads together and slept.

The coachman sat straight on his box, with whip
and reins in his hand and his face turned directly
towards the sun, and slept, slept so that he snored.

But Melchior did not sleep. He had never felt less
like sleeping. He had seldom passed pleasanter
hours than during this glad waiting. Marianne had
been ill. She had not been able to come before, but
now she would come. Oh, of course she would.
And everything would be well again.

She must understand that he was not angry with
her. He had come himself with two horses and the
big sledge.

It is nothing to have to wait when one is sure of

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 1 59

one's self, and when there is so much to distract one's
mind.

There comes the great watch-dog. He creeps for-
ward on the tips of his toes, keeps his eyes on the
ground, and wags his tail gently, as if he meant to set
out on the most indifferent errand. All at once he
begins to burrow eagerly in the snow. The old
rascal must have hidden there some stolen goods.
But just as he lifts his head to see if he can eat it now
undisturbed, he is quite out of countenance to see
two magpies right in front of him.

"You old thief!" say the magpies, and look like
conscience itself. " We are police officers. Give up
your stolen goods ! "

" Oh, be quiet with your noise ! I am the stew-
ard— "

" Just the right one," they sneer.

The dog throws himself on them, and they fly away
with slow flaps. The dog rushes after them, jumps,
and barks. But while he is chasing one, the other is
already back. She flies down into the hole, tears at
the piece of meat, but cannot lift it. The dog
snatches away the meat, holds it between his paws,
and bites in it. The magpies place themselves close
in front of him, and make disagreeable remarks. He
glares fiercely at them, while he eats, and when they
get too impertinent, he jumps up and drives them
away.

The sun began to sink down towards the western
hills. Melchior looked at his watch. It is three
o'clock. And his wife, who had had dinner ready at
twelve !

At the same moment the footman came out and
announced that Miss Marianne wished to speak to him.

l6o THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

Melchior laid the wolfskin cloak over his arm and
went beaming up the steps.

When Marianne heard his heavy tread on the stairs,
she did not even then know if she should go home
with him or not. She only knew that she must put
an end to this long waiting.

She had hoped that the pensioners would come
home; but they did not come. So she had to do
something to put an end to it all. She could bear it
no longer.

She had thought that he in a burst of anger would
have driven away after he had waited five minutes,
or that he would break the door in or try to set the
house on fire.

But there he sat calm and smiling, and only waited.
She cherished neither hatred nor love for him. But
there was a voice in her which seemed to warn her
against putting herself in his power again, and
moreover she wished to keep her promise to Gosta.

If he had slept, if he had spoken, if he had been
restless, if he had shown any sign of doubt, if he had
had the carriage driven into the shade ! But he was
only patience and certainty.

Certain, so infectiously certain, that she would
come if he only waited !

Her head ached. Every nerve quivered. She
could get no rest as long as she knew that he sat
there. It was as if his will dragged her bound
down the stairs.

So she thought she would at least talk with him.

Before he came, she had all the curtains drawn up,
and she placed herself so that her face came in the
full light.

For it was her intention to put him to a sort of

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE i6i

test; but Melchior Sinclair was a wonderful man
that day.

When he saw her, he did not make a sign, nor did
he exclaim. It was as if he had not seen any change
in her. She knew how highly he prized her beauty.
But he showed no sorrow. He controlled himself
not to wound her. That touched her. She began
to understand why her mother had loved him through
everything.

He showed no hesitation. He came with neither
reproaches nor excuses.

" I will wrap the wolfskin about you, Marianne ;
it is not cold. It has been on my knees the whole
time."

To make sure, he went up to the fire and warmed it.

Then he helped her to raise herself from the sofa,
wrapped the cloak about her, put a shawl over her
head, drew it down under her arms, and knotted it
behind her back.

She let him do it. She was helpless. It was good
to have everything arranged, it was good not to have
to decide anything, especially good for one who was
so picked to pieces as she, for one who did not pos-
sess one thought or one feeling which was her own.

Melchior lifted her up, carried her down to the
sleigh, closed the top, tucked the furs in about her,
and drove away from Ekeby.

She shut her eyes and sighed, partly from pleas-
ure, partly from regret. She was leaving life, the
real life; but it did not make so much difference to
her, — she who could not live but only act.

A few days later her mother arranged that she

should meet Gosta. She sent for him while her

II

1 62 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

husband was off on his long walk to see after his
timber, and took him in to Marianne.

Gosta came in ; but he neither bowed nor spoke.
He stood at the door and looked on the ground like
an obstinate boy.

" But, Gosta ! " cried Marianne. She sat in her arm-
chair and looked at him half amused.

" Yes, that is my name."

" Come here, come to me, Gosta ! "

He went slowly forward to her, but did not raise
his eyes.

** Come nearer ! Kneel down here ! "

" Lord God, what is the use of all that?" he cried;
but he obeyed.

" Gosta, I want to tell you that I think it was best
that I came home."

" Let us hope that they will not throw you out in
the snow-drift again."

" Oh, Gosta, do you not care for me any longer?
Do you think that I am too ugly? "

He drew her head down and kissed her, but he
looked as cold as ever.

She was almost amused. If he was pleased to be
jealous of her parents, what then ? It would pass. It
amused her to try and win him back. She did not
know why she wished to keep him, but she did. She
thought that it was he who had succeeded for once
in freeing her from herself. He was the only one
who would be able to do it again.

And now she began to speak, eager to win him
back. She said that it had not been her meaning to
desert him for good, but for a time they must for
appearance's sake break off their connection. He
must have seen, himself, that her father was on the

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 163

verge of going mad, that her mother was in contin-
ual danger of her life. He must understand that
she had been forced to come home.

Then his anger burst out in words. She need not
give herself so much trouble. He would be her
plaything no longer. She had given him up when
she had gone home, and he could not love her any
more. When he came home the day before yester-
day from his hunting-trip and found her gone with-
out a message, without a word, his blood ran cold in
his veins, he had nearly died of grief. He could not
love any one who had given him such pain. She had,
besides, never loved him. She was a coquette, who
wanted to have some one to kiss her and caress her
when she was here in the country, that was all.

Did he think that she was in the habit of allowing
young men to caress her?

Oh yes, he was sure of it. Women were not so
saintly as they seemed. Selfishness and coquetry
from beginning to end ! No, if she could know how
he had felt when he came home from the hunt. It
was as though he had waded in ice-water. He
should never get over that pain. It would follow
him through the whole of his life. He would never
be the same person again.

She tried to explain to him how it had all hap-
pened. She tried to convince him that she was still
faithful. Well, it did not matter, for now he did not
love her any more. He had seen through her. She
was selfish. She did not love him. She had gone
without leaving him a message.

He came continually back to that. She really
enjoyed the performance. She could not be angry,
she understood his wrath so well. She did not

1 64 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

fear any real break between them. But at last she
became uneasy. Had there really been such a change
in him that he could no longer care for her?

** Gosta," she said, " was I selfish when I went to
Sjo after the major; I knew that they had small-pox
there. Nor is it pleasant to go out in satin slippers
in the cold and snow."

** Love lives on love, and not on services and
deeds," said Gosta.

" You wish, then, that we shall be as strangers from
now on, Gosta? "

" That is what I wish."

" You are very changeable, Gosta Berling."

** People often charge me with it."

He was cold, impossible to warm, and she was still
colder. Self-consciousness sat and sneered at her
attempt to act love.

" Gosta," she said, making a last effort, " I have
never intentionally wronged you, even if it may seem
so. I beg of you, forgive me ! "

** I cannot forgive you."

She knew that if she had possessed a real feeling
she could have won him back. And she tried to play
the impassioned. The icy eyes sneered at her, but
she tried nevertheless. She did not want to lose him.

" Do not go, Gosta ! Do not go in anger ! Think
how ugly I have become ! No one will ever love me
again."

** Nor I, either," he said. ** You must accustom
yourself to see your heart trampled upon as well as
another."

" Gosta, I have never loved any one but you. For-
give me. Do not forsake me! You are the only
one who can save me from myself."

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 1 65

He thrust her from him.

"You do not speak the truth," he said with icy
calmness. " I do not know what you want of me, but
I see that you are lying. Why do you want to keep
me? You are so rich that you will never lack suitors."

And so he went.

And not until he had closed the door, did regret
and pain in all their strength take possession of
Marianne's heart.

It was love, her heart's own child, who came out
of the corner where the cold eyes had banished him.
He came, he for whom she had so longed when it
was too late.

When Marianne could with real certainty say to
herself that Gosta Berling had forsaken her, she felt
a purely physical pain so terrible that she almost
fainted. She pressed her hands against her heart,
and sat for hours in the same place, struggling with
a tearless grief.

And it was she herself who was suffering, not a
stranger, nor an actress. It was she herself. Why
had her father come and separated them? Her love
had never been dead. It was only that in her weak
condition after her illness she could not appreciate
his power.

O God, O God, that she had lost him ! O God,
that she had waked so late !

Ah, he was the only one, he was her heart's con-
queror ! From him she could bear anything. Hard-
ness and angry words from him bent her only to
humble love. If he had beaten her, she would have
crept like a dog to him and kissed his hand.

She did not know what she would do to get relief
from this dull pain.

1 66 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

She seized pen and paper and wrote with terrible
eagerness. First she wrote of her love and regret.
Then she begged, if not for his love, only for his pity.
It was a kind of poem she wrote.

When she had finished she thought that if he
should see it he must believe that she had loved
him. Well, why should she not send what she had
written to him? She would send it the next day,
and she was sure that it would bring him back to
her.

The next day she spent in agony and in struggling
with herself. What she had written seemed to her
paltry and so stupid. It had neither rhyme nor
metre. It was only prose. He would only laugh at
such verses.

Her pride was roused too. If he no longer cared
for her, it was such a terrible humiliation to beg for
his love.

Sometimes her good sense told her that she ought
to be glad to escape from the connection with Gosta,
and all the deplorable circumstances which it had
brought with it.

Her heart's pain was still so terrible that her
emotions finally conquered. Three days after she
had become conscious of her love, she enclosed the
verses and wrote Gosta Berling's name on the cover.
But they were never sent. Before she could find a
suitable messenger she heard such things of Gosta
Berling that she understood it was too late to win
him back.

But it was the sorrow of her life that she had not
sent the verses in time, while she could have won
him.

All her pain fastened itself on that point: "If I

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 1 67

only had not waited so long, if I had not waited so
many days ! "

The happiness of life, or at any rate the reality of
life, would have been won to her through those written
words. She was sure they would have brought him
back to her.

Grief, however, did her the same service as love.
It made her a whole being, potent to devote herself
to good as well as evil. Passionate feelings filled
her soul, unrestrained by self-consciousness's icy
chill. And she was, in spite of her plainness, much
loved.

But they say that she never forgot Gosta Berling.
Slie mourned for him as one mourns for a wasted
life.

And her poor verses, which at one time were much
read, are forgotten long ago. I beg of you to read
them and to think of them. Who knows what power
they might have had, if they had been sent? They
are impassioned enough to bear witness of a real
feeling. Perhaps they could have brought him back
to her.

They are touching enough, tender enough in their
awkward formlessness. No one can wish them differ-
ent. No one can want to see them imprisoned in the
chains of rhyme and metre, and yet it is so sad to
think that it was perhaps just this imperfection which
prevented her from sending them in time.

I beg you to read them and to love them. It is a
person in great trouble who has written them.

^' Child, thou hast loved once, but nevermore
Shalt thou taste of the joys of love !
A passionate storm has raged through thy soul
Rejoice thou hast gone to thy rest I

1 68 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

No more in wild joy shalt thou soar up on high
Rejoice, thou hast gone to thy rest !
No more shalt thou sink in abysses of pain,
Oh, nevermore.

" Child, thou hast loved once, but nevermore
Shall your soul burn and scorch in the flames.
Thou wert as a field of brown, sun-dried grass
Flaming with fire for a moment's space ;
From the whirling smoke-clouds the fiery sparks
Drove the birds of heaven with piercing cries.
Let them return ! Thou burnest no more I —
Wilt burn nevermore.

" Child, thou hast loved, but now nevermore

Shalt thou hear love's murmuring voice.

Thy young heart's strength, like a weary child

That sits still and tired on the hard school-bench.

Yearns for freedom and pleasure.

But no man calleth it more like a forgotten song ;

No one sings it more, — nevermore.

" Child, the end has now come !

And with it gone love and love's joy.

He whom thou lovedst as if he had taught thee

With wings to hover through space.

He whom thou lovedst as if he had given thee

Safety and home when the village was flooded.

Is gone, who alone understood

The key to the door of thy heart.

" I ask but one thing of thee, O my beloved :
' Lay not upon me the load of thy hate ! '
That weakest of all things, the poor human heart,
How can it live with the pang and the thought
That it gave pain to another?

" O my beloved, if thou wilt kill me.

Use neither dagger nor poison nor rope !

Say only you wish me to vanish

From the green earth and the kingdom of life,

And I shall sink to my grave.

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 1 69

•• From thee came life of life ; thou gavest me love,
And no\v thou recallest thy gift, I know it too well.
But do not give me thy hate !
I still have love of living ! Oh, remember that ;
But under a load of hate I have but to die."

170 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

CHAPTER X

THE YOUNG COUNTESS

The young countess sleeps till ten o'clock in the
morning, and wants fresh bread on the breakfast-table
every day. The young countess embroiders, and
reads poetry. She knows nothing of weaving and
cooking. The young countess is spoiled.

But the young countess is gay, and lets her joyous-
ness shine on all and everything. One is so glad
to forgive her the long morning sleep and the fresh
bread, for she squanders kindness on the poor and
is friendly to every one.

The young countess's father is a Swedish noble-
man, who has lived in Italy all his life, retained
there by the loveliness of the land and by one of
that lovely land's beautiful daughters. When Count
Henrik Dohna travelled in Italy he had been re-
ceived in this nobleman's house, made the acquaint-
ance of his daughters, married one of them, and
brought her with him to Sweden.

She, who had always spoken Swedish and had
been brought up to love everything Swedish, is
happy in the land of the bear. She whirls so mer-
rily in the long dance of pleasure, on Lofven's shores,
that one could well believe she had always lived
there. Little she understands what it means to be
a countess. There is no state, no stiffness, no con-
descending dignity in that young, joyous creature.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 171

It was the old men who liked the young countess
best. It was wonderful, what a success she had with
old men. When they had seen her at a ball, one
could be sure that all of them, the judge at Munkerud
and the clergyman at Bro and Melchior Sinclair and
the captain at Berga, would tell their wives in the
greatest confidence that if they had met the young
countess thirty or forty years ago —

** Yes, then she was not born," say the old ladies.

And the next time they meet, they joke with the
young countess, because she wins the old men's
hearts from them.

The old ladies look at her with a certain anxiety.
They remember so well Countess Marta. She had
been just as joyous and good and beloved when she
first came to Borg. And she had become a vain and
pleasure-seeking coquette, who never could think of
anything but her amusements. " If she only had
a husband who could keep her at work ! " say the
old ladies. ** If she only could learn to weave ! "
For weaving was a consolation for everything; it
swallowed up all other interests, and had been the
saving of many a woman.

The young countess wants to be a good house-
keeper. She knows nothing better than as a happy
wife to live in a comfortable home, and she often
comes at balls, and sits down beside the old
people. ^

" Henrik wants me to learn to be a capable house-
keeper," she says, " just as his mother is. Teach me
how to weave ! "

Then the old people heave a sigh : first, over Count
Henrik, who can think that his mother was a good
house-keeper; and then over the difficulty of initiat-

172 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

ing this young, ignorant creature in such a compli-
cated thing. It was enough to speak to her of
heddles, and harnesses, and warps, and woofs,^ to
make her head spin.

No one who sees the young countess can help
wondering why she married stupid Count Henrik.
It is a pity for him who is stupid, wherever he
may be. And it is the greatest pity for him who
is stupid and lives in Varmland.

There are already many stories of Count Henrik's
stupidity, and he is only a little over twenty years
old. They tell how he entertained Anna Stjarnhok
on a sleighing party a few years ago.

" You are very pretty, Anna," he said.

" How you talk, Henrik ! "

" You are the prettiest girl in the whole of Varm-
land."

** That I certainly am not."

"The prettiest in this sleighing party at any
rate."

" Alas, Henrik, I am not that either."

" Well, you are the prettiest in this sledge, that
you can't deny."

No, that she could not.

For Count Henrik is no beauty. He is as ugly
as he is stupid. They say of him that that head
on the top of his thin neck has descended in the
family for a couple of hundred years. That is why
the brain is so worn out in the last heir.

** It is perfectly plain that he has no head of his
own," they say. ** He has borrowed his father's.
He does not dare to bend it ; he is afraid of losing it,
— he is already yellow and wrinkled. The head has

1 Terms used in weaving.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 173

been in use with both his father and grandfather.
Why should the hair otherwise be so thin and the
lips so bloodless and the chin so pointed ? "

He always has scoffers about him, who encourage
him to say stupid things, which they save up, circu-
late, and add to.

It is lucky for him that he does not notice it. He
is solemn and dignified in everything he does. He
moves formally, he holds himself straight, he never
turns his head without turning his whole body.

He had been at Munkerud on a visit to the judge
a few years ago. 'He had come riding with high
hat, yellow breeches, and polished boots, and had sat
stiff and proud in the saddle. When he arrived
everything went well, but when he was to ride away
again it so happened that one of the low-hanging
branches of a birch-tree knocked off his hat. He
got off, put on his hat, and rode again under the
same branch. His hat was again knocked off; this
was repeated four times.

The judge at last went out to him and said : " If
you should ride on one side of the branch the next
time?*'

The fifth time he got safely by.

But still the young countess cared for him in spite
of his old-man's head. She of course did not know
that he was crowned with such a halo of stupidity in
his own country, when she saw him in Rome. There,
there had been something of the glory of youth about
him, and they had come together under such romantic
circumstances. You ought to hear the countess tell
how Count Henrik had to carry her off. The priests
and the cardinals had been wild with rage that she
wished to give up her mother's religion and become a

174 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Protestant. The whole people had been in uproar.
Her father's palace was besieged. Henrik was
pursued by bandits. Her mother and sisters implored
her to give up the marriage. But her father was
furious that that Italian rabble should prevent him
from giving his daughter to whomsoever he might
wish. He commanded Count Henrik to carry her off.
And so, as it was impossible for them to be married
at home without its being discovered, Henrik and she
stole out by side streets and all sorts of dark alleys
to the Swedish consulate. And when she had abjured
the Catholic faith and become a Protestant, they were
immediately married and sent north in a swift travel-
ling-carriage. " There was no time for banns, you
see. It was quite impossible," the young countess
used to say. " And of course it was gloomy to be
married at a consulate, and not in one of the beautiful
churches, but if we had not Henrik would have had
to do without me. Every one is so impetuous down
there, both papa and mamma and the cardinals and
the priests, all are so impetuous. That was why
everything had to be done so secretly, and if the
people had seen us steal out of the house, they would
certainly have killed us both — only to save my soul ;
Henrik was of course already lost."

The young countess loves her husband, ever since
they have come home to Borg and live a quieter life.
She loves in him the glory of the old name and the
famous ancestors. She likes to see how her presence
softens the stiffness of his manner, and to hear how
his voice grows tender when he speaks to her. And
besides, he cares for her and spoils her, and she is
married to him. The young countess cannot imagine
that a married woman should not care for her husband.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 175

In a certain way he corresponds to her ideal of
manliness. He is honest and loves the truth. He
had never broken his word. She considers him a
true nobleman.

On the 1 8th of March Bailiff Scharling celebrates
his birthday, and many then drive up Broby Hill.
People from the east and the west, known and un-
known, invited and uninvited, come to the bailiff's on
that day. All are welcome, all find plenty of food
and drink, and in the ballroom there is room for
dancers from seven parishes.

The young countess is coming too, as she always
does where there is to be dancing and merry-making.

But she is not happy as she comes. It is as if she
has a presentiment that it is now her turn to be
dragged-in in adventure's wild chase.

On the way she sat and watched the sinking sun.
It set in a cloudless sky and left no gold edges on the
light clouds. A pale, gray, twilight, swept by cold
squalls, settled down over the country.

The young countess saw how day and night
struggled, and how fear seized all living things at the
mighty contest. The horses quickened their pace
with the last load to come under shelter. The wood-
cutters hurried home from the woods, the maids
from the farmyard. Wild creatures howled at the
edge of the wood. The day, beloved of man, was
conquered.

The light grew dim, the colors faded. She only
saw chillness and ugliness. What she had hoped,
what she had loved, what she had done, seemed to
her to be also wrapped in the twilight's gray light.
It was the hour of weariness, of depression, of impo-
tence for her as for all nature.

1/6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

She thought that her own heart, which now in
its playful gladness clothed existence with purple
and gold, she thought that this heart perhaps
sometime would lose its power to light up her
world.

" Oh, impotence, my own heart's impotence ! " she
said to herself. " Goddess of the stifling, gray twi-
light. You will one day be mistress of my soul.
Then I shall see life ugly and gray, as it perhaps is,
then my hair will grow white, my back be bent, my
brain be paralyzed."

At the same moment the sledge turned in at the
bailiffs gate, and as the young countess looked up,
her eyes fell on a grated window in the wing, and on a
fierce, staring face behind.

That face belonged to the major's wife at Ekeby,
and the young woman knew that her pleasure for the
evening was now spoiled.

One can be glad when one does not see sorrow,
only hears it spoken of. But it is harder to keep a
joyous heart when one stands face to face with black,
fierce, staring trouble.

The countess knows of course that Bailiff Scharling
had put the major's wife in prison, and that she shall
be tried for the assault she made on Ekeby the night
of the great ball. But she never thought that she
should be kept in custody there at the bailiff's house,
so near the ballroom that one could look into her
room, so near that she must hear the dance music and
the noise of merry-making. And the thought takes
away all her pleasure.

The young countess dances both waltz and quadrille.
She takes part in both minuet and contra-dance ; but
after each dance she steals to the window in the

N

THE YOUNG COUNTESS IJJ

wing. There is a light there and she can see how the
major's wife walks up and down in her room. She
never seems to rest, but walks and walks.

The countess takes no pleasure in the dance. She
only thinks of the major's wife going backwards and
.forwards in her prison like a caged wild beast. She
wonders how all the others can dance. She is sure
there are many there who are as much moved as she
to know that the major's wife is so near, and still there
is no one who shows it.

But every time she has looked out her feet grow
heavier in the dance, and the laugh sticks in her
throat.

The bailiffs wife notices her as she wipes the
moisture from the window-pane to see out, and
comes to her.

" Such misery ! Oh, it is such suffering ! " she
whispers to the countess.

" I think it is almost impossible to dance to-night,"
whispers the countess back again.

" It is not with my consent that we dance here,
while she is sitting shut up there," answers Madame
Scharling. " She has been in Karlstad since she was
arrested. But there is soon to be a trial now, and
that is why she was brought here to-day. We could
not put her in that miserable cell in the court-house,
so she was allowed to stay in the weaving-room in
the wing. She should have had my drawing-room,
countess, if all these people had not come to-day.
You hardly know her, but she has been like a mother
and queen to us all. What will she think of us, who
are dancing here, while she is in such great trouble.
It is as well that most of them do not know that she
is sitting there.'

12

178 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

" She ought never to have been arrested," says the
young countess, sternly.

'* No, that is a true word, countess, but there was
nothing else to do, if there should not be a worse mis-
fortune. No one blamed her for setting fire to her
own hay-stack and driving out the pensioners, but
the major was scouring the country for her. God
knows what he would have done if she had not been
put in prison. Scharling has given much offence
because he arrested the major's wife, countess. Even
in Karlstad they were much displeased with him,
because he did not shut his eyes to everything which
happened at Ekeby ; but he did what he thought was
best."

" But now I suppose she will be sentenced ? " says
the countess.

" Oh, no, countess, she will not be sentenced. She
will be acquitted, but all that she has to bear these
days is being too much for her. She is going mad.
You can understand, such a proud woman, how can
she bear to be treated like a criminal I I think that
it would have been best if she had been allowed to
go free. She might have been able to escape by
herself.

** Let her go," says the countess.

" Any one can do that but the bailiff and his wife,"
whispers Madame Scharling. "We have to guard
her. Especially to-night, when so many of her
friends are here, two men sit on guard outside her
door, and it is locked and barred so that no one can
come in. But if any one got her out, countess, we
should be so glad, both Scharling and I."

"Can I not go to her?" says the young countess.
Madame Scharling seizes her eagerly by the wrist

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 179

and leads her out with her. In the hall they throw a
couple of shawls about them, and hurry across the
yard.

" It is not certain that she will even speak to us,"
says the bailiff's wife. "But she will see that we
have not forgotten her."

They come into the first room in the wing, where
the two men sit and guard the barred door, and go
in without being stopped to the major's wife. She
was in a large room crowded with looms and other
implements. It was used mostly for a weaving-room,
but it had bars in the window and a strong lock on
the door, so that it could be used, in case of need, for
a cell.

The major's wife continues to walk without paying
any attention to them.

She is on a long wandering these days. She can-
not remember anything except that she is going the
hundred and twenty miles to her mother, who is up
in the Alfdal woods, and is waiting for her. She
never has time to rest She must go. A never-resting
haste is on her. Her mother is over ninety years
old. She would soon be dead.

She has measured off the floor by yards, and she
is now adding up the yards to furlongs and the fur-
longs to half-miles and miles.

Her way seems heavy and long, but she dares not
rest She wades through deep drifts. She hears the
forests murmur over her as she goes. She rests in
Finn huts and in the charcoal-burner's log cabin.
Sometimes, when there is nobody for many miles,
she has to break branches for a bed and rest under
the roots of a fallen pine.

And at last she has reached her journey's end, the

l80 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

hundred and twenty miles are over, the wood opens
out, and the red house stands in a snow-covered
yard. The Klar River rushes foaming by in a succes-
sion of little waterfalls, and by that well-known sound
she hears that she is at home. And her mother, who
must have seen her coming begging, just as she had
wished, comes to meet her.

When the major's wife has got so far she always
looks up, glances about her, sees the closed door,
and knows where she is.

Then she wonders if she is going mad, and sits
down to think and to rest. But after a time she sets
out again, calculates the yards and the furlongs, the
half-miles and the miles, rests for a short time in
Finn huts, and sleeps neither night nor day until she
has again accomplished the hundred and twenty
miles.

During all the time she has been in prison she has
almost never slept.

And the two women who had come to see her
looked at her with anguish.

The young countess will ever afterwards remember
her, as she walked there. She sees her often in her
dreams, and wakes with eyes full of tears and a moan
on her lips.

The old woman is so pitifully changed, her hair is
so thin, and loose ends stick out from the narrow
braid. Her face is relaxed and sunken, her dress is
disordered and ragged. But with it all she has so
much still of her lofty bearing that she inspires not
only sympathy, but also respect.

But what the countess remembered most distinctly
were her eyes, sunken, turned inward, not yet deprived
of all the light of reason, but almost ready to be ex-

THE YOUNG COUNTESS l8l

tinguished, and with a spark of wildness lurking in
their depths, so that one had to shudder and fear to
have the old woman in the next moment upon one,
with teeth ready to bite, fingers to tear.

They have been there quite a while when the
major's wife suddenly stops before the young woman
and looks at her with a stern glance. The countess
takes a step backwards and seizes Madame Scharling's
arm.

The features of the major's wife have life and ex-
pression, her eyes look out into the world with full
intelligence.

"Oh, no; oh, no,** she says and smiles ; "as yet it is
not so bad, my dear young lady.**

She asks them to sit down, and sits down herself.
She has an air of old-time stateliness, known since days
of feasting at Ekeby and at the royal balls at the
governor's house at Karlstad. They forget the rags
and the prison and only see the proudest and richest
woman in Varmland.

" My dear countess,*' she says, " what possessed you
to leave the dance to visit a lonely old woman? You
must be very good.'*

Countess Elizabeth cannot answer. Her voice is
choking with emotion. Madame Scharling answers
for her, that she had not been able to dance for think-
ing of the major's wife.

"Dear Madame Scharling," answers the major's
wife, " has it gone so far with me that I disturb the
young people in their pleasure? You must not weep
for me, my dear young countess," she continued. " I
am a wicked old woman, who deserves all I get. You
do not think it right to strike one's mother? *'

"No, but — "

1 82 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

The major's wife interrupts her and strokes the curly,
light hair back from her forehead.

" Child, child," she says, " how could you marry
that stupid Henrik Dohna?"

" But I love him."

" I see how it is, I see how it is," says the major's
wife. " A kind child and nothing more ; weeps with
those in sorrow, and laughs with those who are glad.
And obliged to say ' yes ' to the first man who says,
*I love you.' Yes, of course. Go back now and
dance, my dear young countess. Dance and be
happy! There is nothing bad in you."

'* But I want to do something for you."

" Child," says the major's wife, solemnly, " an old
woman lived at Ekeby who held the winds of heaven
prisoners. Now she is caught and the winds are free.
Is it strange that a storm goes over the land ?

" I, who am old, have seen it before, countess. I
know it. I know that the storm of the thundering
God is coming. Sometimes it rushes over great king-
doms, sometimes over small out-of-the-way communi-
ties. God's storm forgets no one. It comes over the
great as well as the small. It is grand to see God's
storm coming.

"Anguish shall spread itself over the land. The
small birds' nests shall fall from the branches. The
hawk's nest in the pine-tree's top shall be shaken down
to the earth with a great noise, and' even the eagle's
nest in the mountain cleft shall the wind drag out with
its dragon tongue.

" We thought that all was well with us ; but it was
not so. God's storm is needed. I understand that,
and I do not complain. I only wish that I might go
to my mother."

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 1 83

She suddenly sinks back.

" Go now, young woman," she says. " I have no
more time. I must go. Go now, and look out for
them who ride on the storm-cloud ! "

Thereupon she renews her wandering. Her features
relax, her glance turns inward. The countess and
Madame Scharling have to leave her.

As soon as they are back again among the
dancers the young countess goes straight to Gosta
Berling.

** I can greet you from the major's wife," she says.
" She is waiting for you to get her out of prison."

** Then she must go on waiting, countess."

" Oh, help her, Herr Berling ! "

Gosta stares gloomily before him. " No," he says,
"why should I help her? What thanks do I owe
her? Everything she has done for me has been to
my ruin."

"But Herr Berling — "

" If she had not existed," he says angrily, " I would
now be sleeping up there in the forest. Is it my duty
to risk my life for her, because she has made me a
pensioner at Ekeby? Do you think much credit goes
with that profession ? "

The young countess turns away from him without
answering. She is angry.

She goes back to her place thinking bitter thoughts
of the pensioners. They have come to-night with
horns and fiddles, and mean to let the bows scrape the
strings until the horse-hair is worn through, without
thinking that the merry tunes ring in the prisoner's
miserable room. They come here to dance until their
shoes fall to pieces, and do not remember that their
old benefactress can see their shadows whirling

1 84 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERLING

by the misty window-panes. Alas, how gray and
ugly the world was! Alas, what a shadow trouble
and hardness had cast over the young countess's
soul !

After a while Gosta comes to ask her to dance.

She refuses shortly.

"Will you not dance with me, countess?" he asks,
and grows very red.

** Neither with you nor with any other of the Ekeby
pensioners," she says.

" We are not worthy of such an honor."

"It is no honor, Herr Berling. 3ut it gives me
no pleasure to dance with those who forget the
precepts of gratitude."

Gosta has already turned on his heel.

This scene is heard and seen by many. All think
the countess is right. The pensioners' ingratitude
and heartlessness had waked general indignation.

But in these days Gosta Berling is more dangerous
than a wild beast in the forest. Ever since he came
home from the hunt and found Marianne gone, his
heart has been like an aching wound. He longs to
do some one a bloody wrong and to spread sorrow
and pain far around.

If she wishes it so, he says to himself, it shall be as
she wishes. But she shall not save her own skin.
The young countess likes abductions. She shall get
her fill. He has nothing against adventure. For
eight days he has mourned for a woman's sake. It
is long enough. He calls Beerencreutz the colonel,
and Christian Bergh the great captain, and the slow
Cousin Christopher, who never hesitates at any mad
adventure, and consults with them how he shall
fivenge the pensioners* injured honor.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 185

It IS the end of the party. A long line of sledges
drive up into the yard. The men are putting on
their fur cloaks. The ladies look for their wraps in
the dreadful confusion of the dressing-room.

The young countess has been in great haste to
leave this hateful ball. She is ready first of all the
ladies. She stands smiling in the middle of the room
and looks at the confusion, when the door is thrown
open, and Gosta Berling shows himself on the
threshold.

No man has a right to enter this room. The old
ladies stand there with their thin hair no longer
adorned with becoming caps; and the young ones
have turned up their skirts under their cloaks, that
the stiff ruffles may not be crushed on the way home.

But without paying any attention to the warning
cries, Gosta Berling rushes up to the countess and
seizes her.

He lifts her in his arms and rushes from the room
out into the hall and then on to the steps with
her.

The astonished women's screams could not check
him. When they hurry after, they only see how he
throws himself into a sledge with the countess in his
arms.

They hear the driver crack his whip and see the
horse set off. They know the driver : it is Beeren-
creutz. They know the horse : it is Don Juan. And
in deep distress over the countess's fate they call their
husbands.

And these waste no time in questions, but hasten
to their sledges. And with the count at their head
they chase after the ravisher.

But he lies in the sledge, holding the young coun-

1 86 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

tess fast. He has forgotten all grief, and mad with
adventure's intoxicating joy, he sings at the top of
his voice a song of love 'and roses.

Close to him he presses her; but she makes no
attempt to escape. Her face lies, white and stiffened,
against his breast

Ah, what shall a man do when he has a pale, help-
less face so near his own, when he sees the fair hair
which usually shades the white, gleaming forehead,
pushed to one side, and when the eyelids have
closed heavily over the gray eyes* roguish glance?

What shall a man do when red lips grow pale
beneath his eyes?

Kiss, of course, kiss the fading lips, the closed eyes,
the white forehead.

But then the young woman awakes. She throws
herself back. She is like a bent spring. And he
has to struggle with her with his whole strength to
keep her from throwing herself from the sledge, until
finally he forces her, subdued and trembling, down
in the corner of the sledge.

"See," says Gosta quite calmly to Beerencreutz,
"the countess is the third whom Don Juan and I
have carried off this winter. But the others hung
about my neck with kisses, and she will neither be
kissed by me nor dance with me. Can you under-
stand these women, Beerencreutz?"

But when Gosta drove away from the house, when
the women screamed and the men swore, when the
sleigh-bells rang and the whips cracked, and there
was nothing but cries and confusion, the men who
guarded the major's wife were wondering.

"What is going on?" they thought. "Why are
they screaming?"

THE YOUNG COUNTESS \%^

Suddenly the door is thrown open, and a voice
calls to them.

" She is gone. He is driving away with her."

They rush out, running like mad, without waiting
to see if it was the major's wife or who it was who
was gone. Luck was with them, and they came
up with a hurrying sledge, and they drove both far
and fast, before they discovered whom they were
pursuing.

But Berg and Cousin Christopher went quietly to
the door, burst the lock, and opened it for the major's
wife.

" You are free," they said.

She came out. They stood straight as ramrods
on either side of the door and did not look at her.

" You have a horse and sledge outside."

She went out, placed herself in the sledge, and
drove away. No one followed her. No one knew
whither she went

Down Broby hill Don Juan speeds towards the
Lofven's ice-covered surface. The proud courser
flies on. Strong, ice-cold breezes whistle by their
cheeks. The bells jingle. The stars and the moon
are shining. The snow lies blue-white and glitters
from its own brightness.

Gosta feels poetical thoughts wake in him.

" Beerencreutz," he says, "this is life. Just as
Don Juan hurries away with this young woman, so
time hurries away with man. You are necessity,
who steers the journey. I am desire, who fetters
the will, and she is dragged helpless, always deeper
and deeper down."

** Don't talk ! " cries Beerencreutz. " They are
coming after us."

I$8 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

And with a whistling cut of the whip he urges Don
Juan to still wilder speed.

" Once it was wolves, now it is spoils," cries
Gosta. " Don Juan, my boy, fancy that you are a
young elk. Rush through the brushwood, wade
through the swamps, leap from the mountain top
down into the clear lake, swim across it with bravely
lifted head, and vanish, vanish in the thick pine-
woods' rescuing darkness! Spring, Don Juan!
Spring like a young elk ! "

Joy fills his wild heart at the mad race. The cries
of the pursuers are to him a song of victory. Joy
fills his wild heart when he feels the countess's body
shake with fright, when he hears her teeth chatter.

Suddenly he loosens the grip of iron with which
he has held her. He stands up in the sledge and
waves his cap.

" I am Gosta Berling," he cries, " lord of ten
thousand kisses and thirteen thousand love-letters!
Hurra for Gosta Berling ! Take him who can ! "

And in the next minute he whispers in the count-

ess's ear :

"Is not the pace good? Is not the course
kingly? Beyond Lofven lies Lake Vaner. Beyond
Vaner lies the sea, everywhere endless stretches of
clear blue-black ice, and beyond all a glowing world.
Rolling thunders in the freezing ice, shrill cries
behind us, shooting stars above us, and jingling bells
before us ! Forward ! Always forward I Have you
a mind to try the journey, young, beautiful lady? "

He had let her go. She pushes him roughly away.
The next instant finds him on his knees at her feet.

" I am a wretch, a wretch. You ought not to
have angered me, countess. You stood there so

THE YOUNG ' COUNTESS 1 89

proud and fair, and never thought that a pensioner's
hand could reach you. Heaven and earth love you.
You ought not to add to the burden of those whom
heaven and earth scorn."

He draws her hands to him and lifts them to his face.

" If you only knew," he says, " what it means to be
an outcast. One does not stop to think what one
does. No, one does not."

At the same moment he notices that she has noth-
ing on her hands. He draws a pair of great fur
gloves from his pocket and puts them on her.

And he has become all at once quite quiet. He
places himself in the sledge, as far from the young
countess as possible.

" You need not be afraid," he says. " Do you not
see where we are driving? You must understand
that we do not dare to do you any harm."

She, who has been almost out of her mind with
fright, sees that they have driven across the lake and
that Don Juan is struggling up the steep hill to Borg.

They stop the horse before the steps of the castle,
and let the young countess get out of the sledge at
the door of her own home.

When she is surrounded by attentive servants, she
regains her courage and presence of mind.

** Take care of the horse, Andersson ! " she says to
the coachman. " These gentlemen who have driven
me home will be kind enough to come in for a while.
The count will soon be here."

" As you wish, countess," says Gosta, and instantly
gets out of the sledge. Beerencreutz throws the
reins to the groom without a moment's hesitation.
And the young countess goes before them and ushers
them into the hall with ill-concealed malicious joy.

igo THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

The countess had expected that the pensioners
would hesitate at the proposition to await her
husband.

They did not know perhaps what a stem and
upright man he was. They were not afraid of the
inquiry he should make of them, who had seized her
by force and compelled her to drive with them.
She longed to hear him forbid them ever again to
set their foot in her house.

She wished to see him call in the servants to point .
out the pensioners to them as men who thereafter
never should be admitted within the doors of Borg»
She wished to hear him express his scorn not only of
what they had done to her, but also of their conduct
toward the old major's wife, their benefactress.

He, who showed her only tenderness and considera*
tion, would rise in just wrath against her perse-
cutors. Love would give fire to his speech. He,
who guarded and looked after her as a creature of
finer stuff than any other, would not bear that rough
men had fallen upon her like birds of prey upon a
sparrow. She glowed with thirst of revenge.

Beerencreutz, however, walked undaunted into the
dining-room, and up to the fire, which was always
lighted when the countess came home from a ball.

Gosta remained in the darkness by the door and
silently watched the countess, while the servant re-
moved her outer wraps. As he sat and looked at
the young woman, he rejoiced as he had not done
for many years. He saw so clearly it was like a
revelation, although he did not understand how he
had discovered it, that she had in her one of the
most beautiful of souls.

As yet it lay bound and sleeping; but it would

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 191

some day show itself. He rejoiced at having discov-
ered all the purity and gentleness and innocence
which was hidden in her. He was almost ready to
laugh at her, because she looked so angry and stood
with flushed cheeks and frowning brows.

" You do not know how gentle and good you are,"
he thought.

The side of her being which was turned towards
the outside world would never do her inner person-
ality justice, he thought. But Gosta Berling from
that hour must be her servant, as one must serve
everything beautiful and godlike. Yes, there was
nothing to be sorry for that he had just been so
violent with her. If she had not been so afraid, if
she had not thrust him from her so angrily, if he had
not felt how her whole being was shaken by his
roughness, he would never have known what a fine
and noble soul dwelt within her.

He had not thought it before. She had only cared
for pleasure-seeking and amusement. And she had
married that stupid Count Henrik.

Yes, now he would be her slave till death ; dog and
slave as Captain Bergh used to say, and nothing
more.

He sat by the door, Gosta Berling, and held with
clasped hands a sort of service. Since the day when
he for the first time felt the flame of inspiration burn
in him, he had not known such a holiness in his soul.
He did not move, even when Count Dohna came in
with a crowd of people, who swore and lamented over
the pensioners' mad performance.

He let Beerencreutz receive the storm. With indo-
lent calm, tried by many adventures, the latter stood
by the fireplace. He had put one foot up on the

192 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

fender, rested his elbow on his knee, and his chin on
his hand, and looked at the excited company.

" What is the meaning of all this? " roared the lit-
tle count at him.

" The meaning is," he said, " that as long as there
are women on earth, there will be fools to dance
after their piping."

The young count's face grew red.

** I ask what that means ! " he repeated.

**I ask that too," sneered Beerencreutz. "I ask
what it means when Henrik Dohna's countess will
not dance with Gosta Berling."

The count turned questioning to his wife.

" I could not, Henrik," she cried. " I could not
dance with him or any of them. I thought of the
major's wife, whom they allowed to languish in
prison."

The little count straightened his stiff body and
stretched up his old-man's head.

** We pensioners," said Beerencreutz, " permit no
one to insult us. She who will not dance with us
must drive with us. No harm has come to the
countess, and there can be an end of the matter."

"No," said the count. "It cannot be the end. It
is I who am responsible for my wife's acts. Now I
ask why Gosta Berling did not turn to me to get
satisfaction when my wife had insulted him."

Beerencreutz smiled.

" I ask that," repeated the count.

" One does not ask leave of the fox to take his
skin from him," said Beerencreutz.

The count laid his hand on his narrow chest.

" I am known to be a just man," he cried. " I car
pass sentence on my servants. Why should I not b

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 193

able to pass sentence on my wife? The pensioners
have no right to judge her. The punishment they
have given her, I wipe out It has never been, do
you understand, gentlemen. It has never existed."

The count screamed out the words in a high
falsetto. Beerencreutz cast a swift glance about the
assembly. There was not one of those present —
Sintram and Daniel Bendix and Dahlberg and all the
others who had followed in — who did not stand
and smile at the way he outwitted stupid Henrik*
Dohna.

The young countess did not understand at first
What was it which should not be considered ? Her
anguish, the pensioner's hard grip on her tender body,
the wild song, the wild words, the wild kisses, did
they not exist? Had that evening never been, over
which the goddess of the gray twilight had reigned ?

" But, Henrik — "

" Silence ! " he said. And he drew himself up to
chide her. "Woe to you, that you, who are a
woman, have wished to set yourself up as a judge of
men," he says. " Woe to you, that you, who are my
wife, dare to insult one whose hand I gladly press.
What is it to you if the pensioners have put the
major's wife in prison? Were they not right? You
can never know how angry a man is to the bottom of
his soul when he hears of a woman's infidelity. Do
you also mean to go that evil way, that you take
such a woman's part?"

"But, Henrik — "

She wailed like a child, and stretched out her arms
to ward off the angry 'words. She had never before
heard such hard words addressed to her. She was
so helpless among these hard men, and now her only

13

194 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

defender turned against her. Never again would her
heart have power to light up the world.

" But, Henrik, it is you who ought to protect me."

Gosta Berling was observant now, when it was too
late. He did not know what to do. He wished her
so well. But he did not dare to thrust himself
between man and wife.

"Where is Gosta Berling? " asked the count.

" Here," said Gosta. And he made a pitiable
attempt to make a jest of the matter. " You were
making a speech, I think, count, and I fell asleep.
What do you say to letting us go home and letting
you all go to bed ? "

" Gosta Berling, since my countess has refused to
dance with you, I command her to kiss your hand
and to ask you for forgiveness."

" My dear Count Henrik," says Grosta, smiling, " it
is not a fit hand for a young woman to kiss. Yester-
day it was red with blood from killing an elk, to-day
black with soot from a fight with a charcoal-burner.
You have given a noble and high-minded sentence.
That is satisfaction enough. Come, Beerencreutz ! "

The count placed himself in his way.

" Do not go," he said. ** My wife must obey me.
I wish that my countess shall know whither it leads
to be self-willed."

Gosta stood helpless. The countess was quite
white; but she did not move.

" Go," said the count.

" Henrik, I cannot."

" You can," said the count, harshly. " You can.
But I know what you want. You will force me to
fight with this man, because your whim is not to like
him. Well, if you will not make him amends, I shall

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 195

do so. You women love to have a man killed for
your sake. You have done wrong, but will not atone
for it. Therefore I must do it. I shall fight the duel,
countess. In a few hours I shall be a bloody corpse."

She gave him a long look. And she saw him as
he was, — stupid, cowardly, puffed up with pride and
vanity, the most pitiful of men.

" Be calm," she said. And she became as cold as
ice. " I will do it."

But now Gosta Berling became quite beside himself,

"You shall not, countess! No, you shall not!
You are only a child, a poor, innocent child, and you
would kiss my hand. You have such a white, beauti-
ful soul. I will never again come near you. Oh,
never again ! I bring death and destruction to every-
thing good and blameless. You shall not touch me.
I shudder for you like fire for water. You shall not ! "

He put his hands behind his back.

" It is all the same to me, Herr Berling. Nothing
makes any difference to me any more. I ask you for
forgiveness. I ask you to let me kiss your hand ! "

Gosta kept his hands behind his back. He ap-
proached the door.

" If you do not accept the amends my wife offers,
I must fight with you, Gosta Berling, and moreover
must impose upon her another, severer, punishment."

The countess shrugged her shoulders. " He is
mad from cowardice," she whispered. " Let me do
it ! It does not matter if I am humbled. It is after
all what you wanted the whole time."

"Did I want that? Do you think I wanted that?
Well, if I have no hands to kiss, you must see that I
did not want it," he cried.

He ran to the fire and stretched out his hands into

196 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

it. The flames closed over them, the skin shrivelled
up, the nails crackled. But in the same second Beeren-
creutz seized him by the neck and threw him across
the floor. He tripped against a chair and sat down.
He sat and almost blushed for such a foolish perform-
ance. Would she think that he only did it by way of
boast? To do such a thing in the crowded room
must seem like a foolish vaunt. There had not been
a vestige of danger.

Before he could raise himself, the countess was
kneeling beside him. She seized his red, sooty hands
and looked at them.

" I will kiss them, kiss them," she cried, " as soon
as they are not too painful and sore ! " And the tears
streamed from her eyes as she saw the blisters rising
under the scorched skin.

For he had been like a revelation to her of an un-
known glory. That such things could happen here
on earth, that they could be done for her ! What a
man this was, ready for everything, mighty in good as
in evil, a man of great deeds, of strong words, of
splendid actions ! A hero, a hero, made of different
stuff from others ! Slave of a whim, of the desire of
the moment, wild and terrible, but possessor of a tre-
mendous power, fearless of everything.

She had been so depressed the whole evening she
had not seen anything but pain and cruelty and
cowardice. Now everything was forgotten. The
young countess was glad once more to be alive. The
goddess of the twilight was conquered. The young
countess saw light and color brighten the world.

It was the same night in the pensioners' wing.
There they scolded and swore at Gosta Berling.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 197

The old men wanted to sleep ; but it was impossible.
He let them get no rest. It was in vain that they
drew the bed-curtains and put out the light. He only
talked.

He let them know what an angel the young coun-
tess was, and how he adored her. He would serve
her, worship her. He was glad that every one had
forsaken him. He could devote his life to her service.
She despised him of course. But he would be satis-
fied to lie at her feet like a dog.

Had they ever noticed an island out in the Lofven ?
Had they seen it from the south side, where the
rugged cliff rises precipitously from the water? Had
they seen it from the north, where it sinks down to
the sea in a gentle slope, and where the narrow shoals,
covered with great pines wind out into the water, and
make the most wonderful little lakes ? There on the
steep cliff, where the ruins of an old viking fortress
still remain, he would build a palace for the young
countess, a palace of marble. Broad steps, at which
boats decked with flags should land, should be hewn
in the cliff down to the sea. There should be glow-
ing halls and lofiy towers with gilded pinnacles. It
should be a suitable dwelling for the young countess.
That old wooden house at Borg was not worthy for
her to enter.

When he had gone on so for a while, first one
snore and then another began to sound behind the
yellow-striped curtains. But most of them swore and
bewailed themselves over him and his foolishness.

" Friends," he then says solemnly, " I see the green
earth covered with the works of man or with the
ruins of men's work. The pyramids weigh down the
earth, the tower of Babel has bored through the sky,

198 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

the beautiful temples and the gray castles have fallen
into ruins. But of all which hands have built, what is
it which has not fallen, nor shall fall? Ah, friends,
throw away the trowel and the mortar ! Spread your
mason's aprons over your heads and lay you down to
build bright palaces of dreams ! What has the soul
to do with temples of stone and clay? Learn to
build everlasting palaces of dreams and visions ! *'

Thereupon he went laughing to bed.

When, shortly after, the countess heard that the
major's wife had been set free, she gave a dinner for
the pensioners.

And then began hers and Gosta Berling's long
friendship.

GHOST-STORIES 199

CHAPTER XI

GHOST-STORIES

Oh, children of the present day !

I have nothing new to tell you, only what is old
and almost forgotten. I have legends from the
nursery, where the little ones sat on low stools about
the old nurse with her white hair, or from the log-
fire in the cottage, where the laborers sat and
chatted, while the steam reeked from their wet
clothes, and they drew knives from leather sheaths
at their necks to spread the butter on thick, soft
bread, or from the hall where old men sat in their
rocking-chairs, and, cheered by the steaming toddy,
talked of old times.

When a child, who had listened to the old nurse,
to the laborers, to the old men, stood at the window
on a winter's evening, it saw no clouds on the hori-
zon without their being the pensioners; the stars
were wax-candles, which were lighted at the old
house at Borg; and the spinning-wheel which
hummed in the next room was driven by old Ulrika
Dillner. For the child's head was filled with the
people of those old days; it lived for and adored
them.

But if such a child, whose whole soul was filled
with stories, should be sent through the dark attic
to the store-room for flax or biscuits, then the small
feet scurried; then it came flying down the stairs,

200 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG.

through the passage to the kitchen. For up there in
the dark it could not help thinking of the wicked
mill-owner at Fors, — of him who was in league with
the devil.

Sint ram 'sashes have been resting long in Svartsjo
churchyard, but no one believes that his soul has
been called to God, as it reads on his tombstone.

While he was alive he was one of those to whose
home, on long, rainy Sunday afternoons, a heavy
coach, drawn by black horses, used to come. A
gentleman richly but plainly dressed gets out of the
carriage, and helps with cards and dice to while
away the long hours which with their monotony have
driven the master of the house to despair. The
game is carried on far into the night ; and when the
stranger departs at dawn he always leaves behind
some baleful parting-gift.

As long as Sintram was here on earth he was one
of those whose coming is made known by spirits.
They are heralded by visions. Their carriages roll
into the yard, their whip cracks, their voices sound
on the stairs, the door of the entry is opened and
shut. The dogs and people are awakened by the
noise, it is so loud; but there is no one who has
come, it is only an hallucination which goes before
them.

Ugh, those horrible people, whom evil spirits seek
out ! What kind of a big black dog was it which
showed itself at Fors in Sintram 's time.? He had
terrible, shining eyes, and a long tongue which
dripped blood and hung far out of his panting throat.
One day, when the men-servants had been in the
kitchen and eaten their dinner, he had scratched at
the kitchen door, and all the maids had screamed

'^^

\

N

GHOST-STORIES. 20l

with fright; but the biggest and strongest of the
men had taken a burning log from the fire, thrown
open the door, and hurled it into the dog's gaping
mouth.

Then he had fled with terrible howls, flames and
smoke had burst from his throat, sparks whirled
about him, and his foot-prints on the path shone like
fire.

And was it not dreadful that every time Sintram
came home from a journey he had changed the ani-
mals which drew him? He left with horses, but
when he came home at night he had always black
bulls before his carriage. The people who lived
near the road saw their great black horns against
the sky when he drove by, and heard the creatures*
bellowing, and were terrified by the line of sparks
which the hoofs and wheels drew out of the dry
gravel.

Yes, the little feet needed to hurry, indeed, to
come across the big, dark attic. Think if some-
thing awful, if he, whose name one may not say,
should come out of a dark corner! Who can be
sure.? It was not only to wicked people that he
showed himself. Had not UlrikaDillner seen him.?
Both she and Anna Stjamhok could say that they
had seen him.

Friends, 'children, you who dance, you who laugh !
I beg you so earnestly to dance carefully, laugh
gently, for there can be so much unhappiness if your
thin slippers tread on sensitive hearts instead of
on hard boards ; arfd your glad, silvery laughter can
drive a soul to despair.

It was surely soj the young people's feet had

202 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG.

trodden too hard on old Ulrika Dillner, and the
young people's laughter had rung too arrogantly in
her ears; for there came over her suddenly an
irresistible longing for a married woman's titles
and dignities. At last she said " yes " to the evil
Sintram's long courtship, followed him to Fors as
his wife, and was parted from the old friends at
Berga, the dear old work, and the old cares for daily
bread.

It was a match which went quickly and gayly.
Sintram offered himself at Christmas, and in Feb-
ruary they were married. That year Anna Stjarnhok
was living in Captain Uggla's home. She was a
good substitute for old Ulrika, and the latter could
draw back without compunction, and take to herself
married honors.

Without compunction, but not without regret. It
was not a pleasant place she had come to ; the big,
empty rooms were filled with dreadful terrors. As
soon as it was dark she began to tremble and to be
afraid. She almost died of homesickness.

The long Sunday afternoons were the hardest of
all. They never came to an end, neither they nor
the long succession of torturing thoughts which
travelled through her brain.

So it happened one day in March, when Sintram
had not come home from church to dinner, that she
went into the drawing-room, on the second floor, and
placed herself at the piano. It was her last consola-
tion. The old piano, with a flute-player and shep-
herdess painted on the white cover, was her own,
come to her from her parents' home. To it she
could tell her troubles; it understood her.

But is it not both pitiful and ridiculous? Do you

GHOST-STORIES. 203

know what she is playing? Only a polka, and she
who is so heart-broken !

She does not know anything else. Before her
fingers stiffened round broom and carving-knife she
had learned this one polka. It sticks in her fingers ;
but she does not know any other piece, — no funeral
march, no impassioned sonata, not even a wailing
ballad, — only the polka.

She plays it whenever she has anything to confide
to the old piano. She plays it both when she feels
like weeping and like smiling. When she was mar-
ried she played it, and when for the first time she
had come to her own home, and also now.

The old strings understand her : she is unhappy,
unhappy.

A traveller passing by and hearing the polka ring
could well believe that Sintram was having a ball
for neighbors and friends, it sounds so gay. It is
such a brave and glad melody. With it, in the old
days, she has played carelessness in and hunger
out at Berga; when they heard it every one must up
and dance. It burst the fetters of rheumatism about
the joints, and lured pensioners of eighty years on
to the floor. The whole world would gladly dance
to that polka, it sounds so gay — but old Ulrika
weeps. Sintram has sulky, morose servants about
him, and savage animals. She longs for friendly
faces and smiling mouths. It is this despairing
longing which the lively polka shall interpret.

People find it hard to remember that she is
Madame* Sintram. Everybody calls her Mamselle
Dillner. She wants the polka tune to express her
sorrow for the vanity which tempted her to seek for
married honors.

204 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG.

Old Ulrika plays as if she would break the strings.
There is so much to drown : the lamentations of the
poor peasants, the curses of over-worked cottagers,
the sneers of insolent servants, and, first and last,
the shame, — the shame of being the wife of a bad
man.

To those notes Gosta Berling has led young
Countess Dohna to the dance. Marianne Sinclair
and her many admirers have danced to them, and the
major's wife at Ekeby has moved to their measure
when Altringer was still alive. She can see them,
couple after couple, in their youth and beauty, whirl
by. There was a stream of gayety from them to her,
from her to them. It was her polka which made
their cheeks glow, their eyes shine. She is parted
from all that now. Let the polka resound, — so
many memories, so many tender memories to drown !

She plays to deaden her anguish. Her heart is
ready to burst with terror when she sees the black
dog, when she hears the servants whispering of the
black bulls. She plays the polka over and over
again to deaden her anguish.

Then she perceives that her husband has come
home. She hears that he comes into the room and
sits down in the rocking-chair. She knows so well
the sound as the rockers creak on the deal floor that
she does not even look round.

All the time she is playing the rocking con-
tinues; she soon hears the music no longer, only
the rocking.

Poor old Ulrika, so tortured, so lonely, so help-
less, astray in a hostile country, without a friend to
complain to, without any consoler but a cracked
piano, which answers her with a polka.

GHOST-STORIES, 205

It is like loud laughter at a funeral, a drinking
song in a church.

While the rocking-chair is still rocking she hears
suddenly how the piano is laughing at her sorrows,
and she stops in the middle of a bar. She rises and
turns to the rocking-chair.

But the next instant she is lying in a swoon on
the floor. It was not her husband who sat in the
rocking-chair, but another, — he to whom little chil-
dren do not dare to give a name, he who would
frighten them to death if they should meet him in
the deserted attic.

Can any one whose soul has been filled with
legends ever free himself from their dominion } The
night wind howls outside, the trees whip the pillars
of the balcony with their stiff branches, the sky
arches darkly over the far-stretching hills, and I,
who sit alone in the night and write, with the lamp
lighted and the curtain drawn, I, who am old and
ought to be sensible, feel the same shudder creeping
up my back as when I first heard this story, and I
have to keep lifting my eyes from my work to be
certain that no one has come in and hidden himself
in that further corner; I have to look out on the
balcony to see if there is not a black head looking
over the railing. This fright never leaves me when
the night is dark and solitude deep ; and it becomes
at last so dreadful that I must throw aside my pen,
creep down in my bed and draw the blanket up over
my eyes.

It was the great, secret wonder of my childhood
that Ulrika Dillner survived that afternoon. I
should never have done so.

206 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG.

I hope, dear friends, that you may never see the
tears of old eyes. And that you may not have to
stand helpless when a gray head leans against your
breast for support, or when old hands are clasped
about yours in a silent prayer. May you never see
the old sunk in a sorrow which you cannot comfort.

What is the grief of the young? They have
strength, they have hope. But what suffering it is
when the old weep; what despair when they, who
have always been the support of your young days,
sink into helpless wailing.

There sat Anna Stjarnhok and listened to old
Ulrika, and she saw no way out for her.

The old woman wept and trembled. Her eyes
were wild. She talked and talked, sometimes quite
incoherently, as if she did not know where she was.
The thousand wrinkles which crossed her face were
twice as deep as usual, the false curls, which hung
down over her eyes, were straightened by her tears,
and her whole long, thin body was shaken with
sobs.

At last Anna had to put an end to the wailings.
She had made up her mind. She was going to take
her back with her to Berga. Of course, she was
Sintram's wife, but she could not remain at Fors.
He would drive her mad if she stayed with him.
Anna Stjarnhok had decided to take old Ulrika
away.

Ah, how the poor thing rejoiced, and yet trembled
at this decision ! But she never would dare to leave
her husband and her home. He would perhaps send
the big black dog after her.

But Anna Stjarnhok conquered her resistance,
partly by jests, partly by threats, and in half an

GHOST-STORIES. 207

hour she had her beside her in the sledge. Anna
was driving herself, and old Disa was in the shafts.
The road was wretched, for it was late in March;
but it did old Ulrika good to drive once more in the
well-known sledge, behind the old horse who had
been a faithful servant at Berga almost as long as she.

As she had naturally a cheerful spirit, she stopped
crying by the time they passed Arvidstorp ; at Hog-
berg she was already laughing, and when they
passed Munkeby she was telling how it used to be
in her youth, when she lived with the countess at
Svaneholm.

They drove up a steep and stony road in the lonely
and deserted region north of Munkeby. The road
sought out all the hills it possibly could find; it
crept up to their tops by slow windings, rushed down
them in a steep descent, hurried across the even
valley to find a new hill to climb over.

They were just driving down Vestratorp's hill,
when old Ulrika stopped short in what she was
saying, and seized Anna by the arm. She was star-
ing at a big black dog at the roadside.

" Look ! " she said.

The dog set off into the wood. Anna did not see
much of him.

"Drive on," said Ulrika; "drive as fast as you
can! Now Sintram will hear that I have gone."

Anna tried to laugh at her terror, but she insisted.

" We shall soon hear his sleigh-bells, you will see.
We shall hear them before we reach the top of the
next hill."

And when Disa drew breath for a second at the
top of Elofs hill sleigh-bells could be heard behind
them.

208 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING.

Old Ulrika became quite m^d with fright. She
trembled, sobbed, and wailed as she had done in the
drawing-room at Fors. Anna tried to urge Disa on,
but she only turned her head and gave her a glance
of unspeakable surprise. Did she think that Disa
had forgotten when it was time to trot and when it
was time to walk ? Did she want to teach her how
to drag a sledge, to teach her who had known every
stone, every bridge, every gate, every hill for more
than twenty years t

All this while the sleigh-bells were coming
nearer.

"It is he, it is he! I know his bells," wails old
Ulrika.

The sound comes ever nearer. Sometimes it
seems so unnaturally loud that Anna turns to see if
Sintram's horse has not got his head in her sledge;
sometimes it dies away. They hear it now on the
right, now on the left of the road, but they see no
one. It is as if the jingling of the bells alone
pursues them.

Just as it is at night, on the way home from a
party, is it also now. These bells ring out a tune ;
they sing, speak, answer. The woods echo with
their sound.

Anna Stjarnhok almost wishes that their pursuer
would come near enough for her to see Sintram him-
self and his red horse. The dreadful sleigh-bells
anger her.

"Those bells torture me," she says.

The word is taken up by the bells. "Torture
me," they ring. "Torture me, torture, torture, tor-
ture me," they sing to all possible tunes.

It was not so long ago that she had driven this

GHOST-STORIES. 209

same way, hunted by wolves. She had seen their
white teeth, in the darkness, gleam in their gaping
mouths; she had thought that her body would soon
be torn to pieces by the wild beasts of the forest;
but then she had not been afraid. She had never
lived through a more glorious night. Strong and
beautiful had the horse been which drew her, strong
and beautiful was the man who had shared the joy
of the adventure with her.

Ah, this old horse, this old, helpless, trembling
companion. She feels so helpless that she longs to
cry. She cannot escape from those terrible, irritat-
ing bells.

So she stops and gets out of the sledge. There
must be an end to it all. Why should she run away
as if she were afraid of that wicked, contemptible
wretch }

At last she sees a horse's head come out of the
advancing twilight, and after the head a whole horse,
a whole sledge, and in the sledge sits Sintram
himself.

She notices, however, that it is not as if they had
come along the road — this sledge, and this horse,
and their driver — but more as if they had been
created just there before her eyes, and had come for-
ward out of the twilight as soon as they were made
ready.

Anna threw the reins to Ulrika and went to meet
Sintram.

He stops the horse.

"Well, well," he says; "what a piece of luck!
Dear Miss Stjarnhok, let me move my companion
over to your sledge. He is going to Berga to-night,
and I am in a hurry to get home."

14

L„;«..

2IO THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG.

" Where is your companion ? "

Sintram lifts his blanket, and shows Anna a man
who is lying asleep on the bottom of the sledge.
"He is a little drunk," he says; "but what does
that matter? He will sleep. It *s an old acquaint-
ance, moreover; it is Gosta Berling."

Anna shudders.

"Well, I will tell you," continues Sintram, "that
she who forsakes the man she loves sells him to the
devil. That was the way I got into his claws.
People think they do so well, of course; to renounce
is good, and to love is evil."

"What do you mean? What are you talking
about ? " asks Anna, quite disturbed.

"I mean that you should not have let Gosta
Berling go from you, Miss Anna."

"It was God* swill."

"Yes, yes, that's the way it is; to renounce is
good, and to love is evil. The good God does not
like to see people happy. He sends wolves after
them. But if it was not God who did it, Miss
Anna? Could it not just as well have been I who
called my little gray lambs from the Dovre moun-
tains to hunt the young man and the young girl?
Think, if it was I who sent the wolves, because I
did not wish to lose one of my own ! Think, if it
was not God who did it ! "

"You must not tempt me to doubt that," says
Anna, in a weak voice, "for then I am lost."

"Look here," says Sintram, and bends down over
the sleeping Gosta Berling; "look at his little
finger. That little sore never heals. We took the
blood there when he signed the contract. He is
mine. There is a peculiar power in blood. He

GHOST-STORIES, 2 1 1

is mine, and it is only love which can free him;
but if I am allowed to keep him he will be a fine
thing."

Anna Stjamhok struggles and struggles to shake
off the fascination which has seized her. It is all
madness, madness. No one can swear away his soul
to the odious tempter. But she has no power over
her thoughts; the twilight lies so heavy over her,
the woods stand so dark and silent. She cannot
escape the dreadful terror of the moment.

"You think, perhaps,*' continues Sintram, "that
there is not much left in him to ruin. But don't

think that ! Has he ground down the peasants, has
he deceived poor friends, has he cheated at cards.?
Has he. Miss Anna, has he been a married woman's
lover?"

" I think you are the devil himself ! "

"Let us exchange. You take Gosta Berling, take
him and marry him. Keep him, and give them at
Berga the money. I yield him up to you, and you
know that he is mine. Think that it was not God
who sent the wolves after you the other night, and
let us exchange!"

" What do you want as compensation } "

Sintram grinned.

"I — what do I want ? Oh, I am satisfied with
little. I only want that old woman there in your
sledge. Miss Anna."

"Satan, tempter," cries Anna, "leave me! Shall
I betray an old friend who relies on me.? Shall I
leave her to you, that you may torture her to
madness ? "

" There, there, there ; quietly, Miss Anna ! Think
what you are doing ! Here is a fine young man, and

212 THE STORY OF COSTA BE RUNG.

there an old, worn-out woman. One of them I must
have. Which of them will you let me keep ? "

Anna Stjarnhok laughed wildly.

"Do you think that we can stand here and ex-
change souls as they exchange horses at the market
at Broby.?"

"Just so, yes. But if you will, we shall put it
on another basis. We shall think of the honor of
the Stjarnhoks."

Thereupon he begins to call in a loud voice to his
wife, who is sitting in Anna's sledge; and, to the
girl's unspeakable horror, she obeys the summons
instantly, gets out of the sledge, and comes, trem-
bling and shaking, to them.

"See, see, see! — such an obedient wife,'* says
Sintram. "You cannot prevent her coming when
her husband calls. Now, I shall lift Gosta out of
my sledge and leave him here, — leave him for good^
Miss Anna. Whoever may want to can pick him
up.

He bends down to lift Gosta up; but Anna leans
forward, fixes him with her eyes, and hisses like an
angry animal: —

"In God's name, go home! Do you not know
who is sitting in the rocking-chair in the drawing-
room and waiting for you t Do you dare to let him
wait > "

It was for Anna almost the climax of the horrors
of the day to see how these words affect him. He
drags on the reins, turns, and drives homewards,
urging the horse to a gallop with blows and wild
cries down the dreadful hill, while a long line of
sparks crackle under the runners and hoofs in the
thin March snow.

GHOST-STORIES, 2 1 3

Anna Stjarahok and Ulrika Dillner stand alone
in the road, but they do not say a word. Ulrika
trembles before Anna's wild eyes, and Anna has
nothing to say to the poor old thing, for whose sake
she has sacrificed her beloved.

She would have liked to weep, to rave, to roll on
the ground and strew snow and sand on her head.

Before, she had known the sweetness of renuncia-
tion, now she knew its bitterness. What was it to
sacrifice her love compared to sacrificing her beloved's
soul } They drove on to Berga in the same silence ;
but when they arrived, and the hall-door was opened,
Anna Stjarnhok fainted for the first and only time
in her life. There sat both Sintram and Gosta
Berling, and chatted quietly. The tray with toddy
had been brought in ; they had been there at least
an hour.

Anna Stjarnhok fainted, but old Ulrika stood
calm. She . had noticed that everything was not
right with him who had followed them on the road.

Afterwards the captain and his wife arranged the
matter so with Sintram that old Ulrika was allowed
to stay at Berga. He agreed good-naturedly.

"He did not want to drive her mad," he said.

I do not ask any one to believe these old stories.
They cannot be anything but lies and fiction. But
the anguish which passes over the heart, until it
wails as the floor boards in Sintram *s room wailed
under the swaying rockers ; but the questions which
ring in the ears, as the sleigh-bells rang for Anna
Stjarnhok in the lonely forest, — when will they be
as lies and fiction }

Oh, that they could be !

214 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG.

CHAPTER XII

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY

The beautiful point on Lofven's eastern shore, about
which the bay glides with lapping waves, the proud
point where the manor of Borg lies, beware of
approaching.

Lofven never looks more glorious than from its
summit.

No one can know how lovely it is, the lake of my
dreams, until he has seen from Borg's point the
morning mist glide away from its smooth surface;
until he, from the windows of the little blue cabinet,
where so many memories dwell, has seen it reflect a
pink sunset.

But I still say, go not thither !

For perhaps you will be seized with a desire to
remain in that old manor's sorrowful halls; perhaps
you will make yourself the owner of those fair lands ;
and if you are young, rich, and happy, you will make
your home there with a young wife.

No, it is better never to see the beautiful point,
for at Borg no one can live and be happy. No
matter how rich, how happy you may be, who move
in there, those old tear-drenched floors would soon
drink four tears as well, and those walls, which could
give back so many moans, would also glean j^our
sighs.

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY, 21 5

An implacable fate is on this lovely spot. It is
as if niisfortune were buried there, but found no rest
in its grave, and perpetually rose from it to terrify
the living. If I were lord of Borg I would search
through the ground, both in the park and under the
cellar floor in the house, and in the fertile mould
out in the meadows, until I had found the witch's
worm-eaten corpse, and then I would give her a
grave in consecrated earth in the Svartsjo church-
yard. And at the burial I would not spare on the
ringer's pay, but let the bells sound long and loud
over her; and to the clergyman and sexton I should
send rich gifts, that they with redoubled strength
might with speech and song consecrate her to ever-
lasting rest.

Or, if that did not help, some stormy night I
would set fire to the wooden walls, and let it destroy
everything, so that no one more might be tempted
to live in the home of misfortune. Afterwards no
one should be allowed to approach that doomed
spot; only the church-tower's black jackdaws should
build in the great chimney, which, blackened a^ld
dreadful, would raise itself over the deserted founda-
tions.

Still, I should certainly mourn when I saw the
flames close over the roof, when thick smoke, red-
dened by the fire and flecked with sparks, should roll
out from the old manor-house. In the crackling
and the roaring I should fancy I heard the wails of
homeless memories ; on the blue points of the flames
I should see disturbed spirits floating. I should
think how sorrow beautifies, how misfortune adorns,
and weep as if a temple to the old gods had been
condemned to destructioa

2l6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING.

But why croak of unhappiness? As yet Borg lies
and shines on its point, shaded by its park of nughty
i>:nes, and the snow-covered fields glitter in Ma-ch's
burning sun; as yet is heard within those walls the
young Countess Elizabeth's gay laughter.

Ever}' Sunday she goes to church at Svartsjo,
which lies near Borg, and gathers together a few
friends for dinner. The judge and his family from
M;:nkorud used to come, and the Ugglas from
l^crcA. And oven Sintram. If Gosta Berling hap-
peiis to bo in Svartsjo, wandering over Lofven's ice,
jihc inviics him too. Why should she not invite
i;<.v:a Borling.?

^ho probably does not know that the gossips are
K^inning to whisper that Gosta comes very often
over to the east shore to see her. Perhaps he also
comes to drink and play cards with Sintram ; but no
one thinks so much of that ; every one knows that
his body is of steel ; but it is another matter with
his heart. No one believes that he can see a pair
(if shining eyes, and fair hair which curls about a
wliite brow, \vithout love.

The young countess is good to him. But there
is nothing strange in that; she is good to all. She
takes ragged beggar children on her knee, and when
she drives by some poor old creature on the high-
road she has the coachman stop, and takes the poor,
wanderer up into her sledge.

Gosta used to sit in the little blue cabinet, where
there is such a glorious view over the lake, and read
poetry to her. There can be no harm in that. He
does not forget that she is a countess, and }ie a home-
less adventurer; and it is good for him to be with
some one whom he holds high and holy. He could

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY. 217

just as well be in love with the Queen of Sheba as
with her.

He only asks to be allowed to wait on her as a
page waits on his noble mistress: to fasten her
skates, to hold her skeins, to steer her sled. There
cannot be any question of love between them ; he is
just the man to find his happiness in a romantic,
innocent adoration.

The young count is silent and serious, and Gosta
is playfully gay. He is just such a companion as
the young ^^ountess likes. No one who sees her
fancies that she is hiding a forbidden love. She
thinks of dancing, — of dancing and merrymaking.^
She would like the earth to be quite flat, without
stones, without hills or seas, so that she could dance
everywhere. From the cradle to the grave she would
like to dance in her small, thin-soled, satin slippers.

But rumor is not very merciful to young women.

When the guests come to dinner at Borg, the men
generally, after the meal, go into the count's room
to sleep and smoke; the old ladies sink down in the
easy-chairs in the drawing-room, and lean their
venerable heads against the high backs; but the
countess and Anna Stjarhhok go into the blue cab-
inet and exchange endless confidences.

The Sunday after the one when Anna Stjamhok
took Ulrika Dillner back to Berga they are sitting
there again.

No one on earth is so unhappy as the young girl.
All her gayety is departed, and gone is the glad
defiance which she showed to everything and every-
body who wished to come too near her.

Everything which had happened to her that day
has sunk back into the twilight from which it was

2l8 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG,

charmed ; she has only one distinct impression left,
— yes, one, which is poisoning her soul.

"If it really was not God who did it," she used
to whisper to herself. " If it was not God, who sent
the wolves ? "

She asks for a sign, she longs for a miracle. She
searches heaven and earth. But she sees no finger
stretched from the sky to point out her way.

As she sits now opposite the countess in the blue
cabinet, her eyes fall on a little bundi of hepaticas
which the countess holds in her white hand. Like
a bolt it strikes her that she knows where the flowers
have grown, that she knows who has picked t^em.

She does not need to ask. Where else in- the
whole countryside do hepaticas bloom in the begin-
ning of April, except in the birch grove which lies
on the slopes of Ekeby "i

She stares and stares at the little blue stars ; those
happy ones who possess all hearts; those little
prophets who, beautiful in themselves, are also
glorified by the splendor of all the beauty which
they herald, of all the beauty which is coming. And
as she watches them a storm of wrath rises in her
soul, rumbling like the thunder, deadening like the
lightning. "By what right," she thinks, "does
Countess Dohna hold this bunch of hepaticas, picked
by the shore at Ekeby t "

They were all tempters: Sintram, the countess,
everybody wanted to allure Gosta Berling to what
was evil. But she would protect him; against all
would she protect him. Even if it should cost her
heart's blood, she would do it.

She thinks that she must see those flowers torn
out of the countess's hand, and thrown aside,

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY. 219

trampled, crushed, before she leaves the little blue
cabinet.

She thinks that, and she begins a struggle with
the little blue stars. Out in the drawing-room the
old ladies lean their venerable heads against the
chair-backs and suspect nothing; the men smoke
their pipes in calm and quiet in the count's room;
peace is everywhere; only in the little blue cabinet
rages a terrible struggle.

Ah, how well they do who keep their hands from
the sword, who understand how to wait quietly, to
lay their hearts to rest and let God direct! The
restless heart always goes astray. Ill-will makes the
pain worse.

But Anna Stjarnhok believes that at last she has
seen a finger in the sky.

"Anna," says the countess, "tell me a story!"

"About what.?''

"Oh," says the countess, and caresses the flowers
with her white hand. " Do not you know something
about love, something about loving? "

" No, I know nothing of love. "

" How you talk ! Is there not a place here which
is called Ekeby, — a place full of pensioners } "

"Yes," says Anna, "there is a place which is
called Ekeby, and there are men there who suck the
marrow of the land, who make us incapable of seri-
ous work, who ruin growing youth, and lead astray
our geniuses. Do you want to hear of them ? Do
you want to hear love-stories of them 1 "

" Yes. I like the pensioners. "

So Anna Stjarnhok speaks, — speaks in short
sentences, like an old hymn-book, for she is nearly
choking with stormy emotions. Suppressed suffer-

220 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG.

ing trembles in each word, and the countess was
both frightened and interested to hear her.

" What is a pensioner's love, what is a pensioner's
faith? — one sweetheart to-day, another to-morrow,
one in the east, another in the west. Nothing is
too high for him, nothing too low; one day a count's
daughter, the next day a beggar girl. Nothing on
earth is so capacious as his heart. But alas, alas
for her who loves a pensioner. She must seek him
out where he lies drunk at the wayside. She must
silently look on while he at the card-table plays
away the home of her childhood. She must bear to
have him hang about other women. Oh, Elizabeth,
if a pensioner asks an honorable woman for a dance
she ought to refuse it to him; if he gives her a
bunch of flowers she ought to throw the flowers on
the ground and trample on them ; if she loves him
she ought rather to die than to marry him. There
was one among the pensioners who was a dismissed
priest; he had lost his vestments for drunkenness.
He was drunk in the church. He drank up the
communion wine. Have you ever heard of him.^"

" No. "

" After he had been dismissed he wandered about
the country as a beggar. He drank like a madman.
He would steal to get brandy. "

"What is his name.? "

"He is no longer at Ekeby. The major's wife
got hold of him, gave him clothes, and persuaded
your mother-in-law. Countess Dohna, to make him
tutor to your husband, young Count Henrik."

"A dismissed priest! "

"Oh, he was a young, powerful man, of good
intelligence. There was no barm in him, if be caily

■■■*

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY. 221

did not drink. Countess Marta was not particular.
It amused her to quarrel with the neighboring clergy-
men. Still, she ordered him to say nothing of his
past life to her children. For then her son would
have lost respect for him, and her daughter would
not have endured him, for she was a saint.

" So he came here to Borg. He always sat just
inside the door, on the very edge of his chair, never
said a word at the table, and fled out into the park
when any visitors came.

"But there in the lonely walks he used to meet
young Ebba Dohna. She was not one who loved
the noisy feasts which resoundied in the halls at
Borg after the countess became a widow. She was
so gentle, so shy. She was still, although she was
seventeen, nothing but a tender child; but she
was very lovely, with her brown eyes, and the faint,
delicate color in her cheeks. Her thin, slender
body bent forward. Her little hand would creep
into yours with a shy pressure. Her little mouth
was the most silent of mouths and the most serious.
Ah, her voice, her sweet little voice, which pro-
nounced the words so slowly and so well, but never
rang with the freshness and warmth of youth, — its
feeble tones were like a weary musician's last chord.

*' She was not as others. Her foot trod so lightly,
so softly, as if she were a frightened fugitive. She
kept her eyelids lowered in order not to be disturbed
in her contemplation of the visions of her soul. It
had turned from the earth when she was but a child.

"When she was little her grandmother used to tell
her stories ; and one evening they both sat by the
fire; but the stories had come to an end. But still
the little girl's hand lay on the old woman's dress.

222 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING.

and she gently stroked the silk, — that funny stuflf
which sounded like a little bird. And this stroking
was her prayer, for she was one of those children
who never beg in words.

"Then the old lady began to tell her of a little
child in the land of Judah; of a little child who
was born to become a great King. The angels had
filled the earth with songs of praise when he was
bom. The kings of the East came, guided by the
star of heaven, and gave him gold and incense; and
old men and women foretold his glory. This child
grew up to greater beauty and wisdom than all other
children. Already, when he was twelve years old,
his wisdom was greater than that of the chief -priests
and the scribes.

" Then the old woman told her of the most beauti-
ful thing the earth has ever seen: of that child's
life while he remained among men, — those wicked
men who would not acknowledge him their King.

" She told her how the child became a man, but
that the glory surrounded him still.

"Everything on the earth served him and loved
him, except mankind. The fishes let themselves be
caught in his net, bread filled his baskets, water
changed itself to wine when he wished it.

"But the people gave the great King no golden
crown, no shining throne. He had no bowing court-
iers about him. They let him go among them like
a beggar.

"Still, he was so good to them, the great King!
He cured their sicknesses, gave back to the blind
their sight, and waked the dead.

" ' But, ' said the grandmother, * the people would
not have the great King for their lord.

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY. 223

" ' They sent their soldiers against him, and took
him prisoner ; they dressed him, by way of mockery,
in crown and sceptre, and in a silken cloak, and
made him go out to the place of execution, bearing
a heavy cross. Oh, my child, the good King loved
the high mountains. At night he used to climb
them to talk with those who dwelt in heaven, and
he liked by day to sit on the mountain^side and talk
to the listening people. But now they led him up
on a mountain to crucify him. They drove nails
through his hands and feet, and hung the good King
on a cross, as if he had been a robber or a malefactor.

" ' And the people mocked at him. Only his mother
and his friends wept, that he should die before he
had been a King.

' Oh, how the dead things mourned his death!
' The sun lost its light, and the mountains trem-
bled ; the curtain in the temple was rent asunder,
and the graves opened, that the dead might rise up
and show their grief. '

" The little one lay with her head on her grand-
mother's knee, and sobbed as if her heart would
break.

"'Do not weep, little one; the good King rose
from his grave and went up to his Father in heaven. '

" ' Grandmother,' sobbed the poor little thing, ' did
he ever get any kingdom } '

' He sits on God's right hand in heaven.*
But that did not comfort her. She wept help-
lessly and unrestrainedly, as only a child can weep.

" * Why were they so cruel to him ? Why were
they allowed to be so cruel to him } *

" Her grandmother was almost frightened at her
overwhelming sorrow.

it
ft

(t

it

224 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERLING

" ' Say, grandmother, say that you have not told it
right ! Say that it did not end so ! Say that they
were not so cruel to the good King ! Say that he
got a kingdom on earth ! '

" She threw her arms around the old woman and
beseeched her with streaming tears. "

" * Child, child,' said her grandmother, to console
her. There are some who believe that he will
come again. Then he will put the earth under his
power and direct it. The beautiful earth will be a
glorious kingdom. It shall last a thousand years.
Then the fierce animals will be gentle ; little chil-
dren will play by the viper's nest, and bears and
cows will eat together. No one shall injure or
destroy the other; the lance shall be bent into
scythes, and the sword forged into ploughs. And
everything shall be play and happiness, for the good
will possess the earth. '

"Then the little one's face brightened behind her
tears.

" ' Will the good King then get a throne, grand-
mother? *

A throne of gold. *

And servants, and courtiers, and a golden
crown } *

" ' Yes. '

"* Will he come soon, grandmother? *

" ' No one knows when he will come.'
May I sit on a stool at his feet? '
You may. '

Grandmother, I am so happy,' says the little
one.

"Evening after evening, through many winters,
they both sat by the fire and talked of the good

« <

u t

€< t
<( (

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 225

King and his kingdom. The little one dreamed of
the kingdom which should last a thousand years, both
by night and by day. She never wearied of adorn-
ing it with everything beautiful which she could
think of.

" Ebba Dohna never dared to speak of it to any
one ; but from that evening she only lived for the
Lord's kingdom, and to await his coming.

"When the evening sun crimsoned the western
sky, she wondered if he would ever appear there,
glowing with a mild splendor, followed by a host of
millions of angels, and march by her, allowing her
to touch the hem of his garment.

"She often thought, too, of those pious women
who had hung a veil over their heads, and never lifted
their eyes from the ground, but shut themselves in
in the gray cloister's calm, in the darkness of little
cells, to always contemplate the glowing visions
which appear from the night of the soul.

" Sucjjjiad she grown up ; such ^she was when she
and the new tutor met in the lonely paths of the
park.

" I will not speak more harshly of him than I must.
I will believe that he loved that child, who soon
chose him for companion in her lonely wanderings.
I think that his soul got back its wings when he
walked by the side of that quiet girl, who had never
confided in any other. I think that he felt himself
a child again, good, gentle, virtuous.

" But if he really loved her, why did he not remem-
ber that he could not give her a worse gift than his
love.? He, one of the world's outcasts, what did he
want, what did he think of when he walked at the
side of the count's daughter? What did the dis-

15

226 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

missed clergyman think when she confided to him
her gentle dreams? What did he want, who had
been a drunkard, and would be again when he got
the chance, at the side of her who dreamed of a
bridegroom in heaven? Why did he not fly far, far
away from her? Would it not have been better for
him to wander begging and stealing about the land
than to walk under the silent pines and again be
good, gentle, virtuous, when it could not change
the life he had led, nor make it right that Ebba
Dohna should love him?

"Do not think that he looked like a drunkard,
with livid cheeks and red eyes. He was always a
splendid man, handsome and unbroken in soul and
body. He had the bearing of a king and a body of
steel, which was not hurt by the wildest life. "

"Is he still living? " asks the countess.

" Oh, no, he must be dead now. All that happened
so long ago. "

There is something in Anna Stjarnhok which
begins to tremble at what she is doing. She begins
to think that she will never tell the countess who
the man is of whom she speaks; that she will let
her believe that he is dead.

" At that time he was still young ; '* and she begins
her story again. "The joy of living was kindled in
him. He had the gift of eloquence, and a fiery,
impulsive heart.

" One evening he spoke to Ebba Dohna of love.
She did not answer; she only told him what her
grandmother had told her that winter evening, and
described to him the land of her dreams. Then she
exacted a promise from him. She made him swear
that he would be a proclaimer of the word of God;

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY 22/

one of those who would prepare the way for the Lord,
so that his coming might be hastened.

"What could he do? He was a dismissed clergy-
man, and no way was so closed to him as that on
which she wanted him to enter. But he did not dare
to tell her the truth. He did not have the heart
to grieve that gentle child whom he loved. He
promised everything she wished.

"After that few words were needed. It went
without saying that some day she should be his
wife. It was not a love of kisses and caresses.
He hardly dared come near her. She was as sensi-
tive as a fragile flower. But her brown eyes were
sometimes raised from the ground to seek his. On
moonlit evenings, when they sat on the veranda, she
would creep close to him, and then he would kiss
her hair without her noticing it.

" But you understand that his sin was in his for-
getting both the past and the future. That he was
poor and humble he could forget; but he ought
always to have remembered that a day must come
when in her soul love would rise against love, earth
against heaven, when she would be obliged to choose
between him and the glorious Lord of the kingdom
of the thousand years. And she was not one wh9.
could endure such a struggle.

" A summer went by, an autumn, a winter. When
the spring came, and the ice melted, Ebba Dohna
fell ill. It was thawing in the valleys ; there were
streams down all the hills, the ice was unsafe, the
roads almost impassable both for sledge and cart.

"Countess Dohna wanted to get a doctor from
Karlstad; there was none nearer. But she com-
manded in vai». She could not, either with prayers

228 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

or threats, induce a servant to go. She threw her-
self on her knees before the coachman, but he re-
fused. She went into hysterics of grief over her
daughter — she was always immoderate, in sorrow as
in joy, Countess Marta.

" Ebba Dohna lay ill with pneumonia, and her life
was in danger; but no doctor could be got.

" Then the tutor drove to Karlstad. To take that
journey in the condition the roads were in was to
play with his life; but he did it. It took him over
bending ice and break-neck freshets. Sometimes
he had to cut steps for the horse in the ice, some-
times drag him out of the deep clay in the road. It
was said that the doctor refused to go with him, and
that he, with pistol in hand, forced him to set
out.

" When he came back the countess was ready to
throw herself at his feet. ' Take everything! ' she
said. ' Say what you want, what you desire, — my
daughter, my lands, my money ! '

"* Your daughter,' answered the tutor."

Anna Stjamhok suddenly stops.

" Well, what then, what then ? " asks Countess
Elizabeth.

"That can be enough for now," answers Anna, for
she is one of those unhappy people who live in the
anguish of doubt. She has felt it a whole week.
She does not know what she wants. What one
moment seems right to her the next is wrong. Now
she wishes that she had never begun this story.

" I begin to think that you want to deceive me,
Anna. Do you not understand that I must hear the
end of this story ? "

"There is not much more to tell. — The hour of

EBB A DONNA'S STORY 229

Strife was come for Ebba Dohna. Love raised itself
against love, earth against heaven.

" Countess Marta told her of the wonderful jour-
ney which the young man had made for her sake,
and she said to her that she, as a reward, had given
him her hand.

" Ebba was so much better that she lay dressed on
a sofa. She was weak and pale, and even more silent
than usual.

**When she heard those words she lifted her
brown eyes reproachfully to her mother, and said to
her: —

" * Mamma, have you given me to a dismissed
priest, to one who has forfeited his right to serve
God, to a man who has been a thief, a beggar } '

" * But, child, who has told you that } I thought
you knew nothing of it. '

" ' I heard your guests speaking of him the day I
was taken ill. '

" ' But, child, remember that he has saved your
life!'

" ' I remember that he .has deceived me. He
should have told me who he was.'

" * He says that you love him. *

" ' I have done so. I cannot love one who has
deceived me.'

* How has he deceived you ? *
' You would not understand, mamma. '
She did not wish to speak to her mother of the
kingdom of her dreams, which her beloved should
have helped her to realize.

" ' Ebba, ' said the countess, ' if you love him you
shall not ask what he has been, but marry him. The
husband of a Countess Dohna will be rich enough,

230 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

powerful enough, to excuse all the follies of his
youth. '

"' I care nothing for his youthful follies, mamma;
it is because he can never be what I want him to be
that I cannot marry him. '

" ' Ebba, remember that I have given him my
promise ! '

" The girl became as pale as death.

" * Mamma, I tell you that if you marry me to him
you part me from God. '

" * I have decided to act for your happiness, ' says
the countess. * I am certain that you will.be happy
with this man. You have already succeeded in mak-
ing a saint of him. I have decided to overlook the
claims of birth and to forget that he is poor and
despised, in order to give you a chance to raise him.
I feel that I am doing right. You know that I scorn
all old prejudices. '

" The young girl lay quiet on her sofa for a while
after the countess had left her. She was fighting
her battle. Earth raised itself against heaven, love
against love; but her childhood's love won the vic-
tory. As she lay there on the sofa, she saw the
western sky glow in a magnificent sunset. She
thought that it was a greeting from the good King;
and as she could not be faithful to him if she lived,
she decided to die. There was nothing else for her
to do, since her mother wished her to belong to one
who never could be the good King's servant.

" She went over to the window, opened it, and let
the twilight's cold, damp air chill her poor, weak body.

" It was easily done. The illness was certain to
begin again, and it did.

"No one but I knows that she sought death,

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY 231

Elizabeth. I found her at the window. I heard her
delirium. She liked to have me at her side those
last days.

"It was I who saw her die; who saw how she one
evening stretched out her arms towards the glowing
west, and died, smiling, as if she had seen some one
advance from the sunset's glory to meet her. It was
also I who had to take her last greeting to the man
she loved. I was to ask him to forgive her, that
she could not be his wife. The good King would
not permit it.

" But I have never dared to say to that man that
he was her murderer. I have not dared to lay the
weight of such pain on his shoulders. And yet he,
who won her love by lies, was he not her miurderer?
Was he not, Elizabeth 1 "

Countess Dohna long ago had stopped caressing
the blue flowers. Now she rises, and the bouquet
falls to the floor.

''Anna, you are deceiving me. You say that the
story is old, and that the man has been dead a long
time. But I know that it is scarcely five years since
Ebba Dohna died, and you say that you yourself
were there through it all. You are not old. Tell
me who the man is ! *'

Anna Stjamhok begins to laugh.

"You wanted a love-story. Now you have had
one which has cost you both tears and pain."

"Do you mean that you have lied? "

"Nothing but romance and lies, the whole thing I *'

"You are too bad, Anna."

" Maybe. I am not so happy, either. — But the
ladies are awake, and the men are coming into the
drawing-room. Let us join them!"

232 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

On the threshold she is stopped by Gosta Berling,
who is looking for the young ladies.

"You must have patience with me,'* he says,
laughing. " I shall only torment you for ten min-
utes; but you must hear my verses."

He tells them that in the night he had had a
dream more vivid than ever before ; he had dreamt
that he had written verse. He, whom the world
called " poet,** although he had always been undeserv-
ing of the title, had got up in the middle of the
night, and, half asleep, half awake, had begun to
write. It was a whole poem, which he had found
the next morning on his writing-table. He could
never have believed it of himself. Now the ladies
should hear it.

And he reads : —

" The moon rose, and with her came the sweetest hour of the
day.
From the clear, pale-blue, lofty vault
She flooded the leafy veranda with her light.
On the broad steps we were sitting, both old and young,
Silent at first to let the emotions sing
The heart's old song in that tender hour.

" From the mignonette rose a sweet perfume,
And from dark thickets shadows crept over the dewy grass.
Oh, who can be safe from emotion

When the night's shadows play, when the mignonette sheds
its heavy perfume?

" The last faded petal dropped from the rose,
Although the offering was not sought by the wind*
So — we thought — will we give up our life,
Vanish into space like a sound,
Like autumn's yellowed leaf go without a moan.
Death is the reward of life ; may we meet it quietly,
Just as a rose lets its last faded petal fall.

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 233

" On its fluttering wing a bat flew by us,
Flew and was seen, wherever the moon shone ;
Then the question arose in our oppressed hearts, —

" The question which none can answer,
The question, heavy as sorrow, old as pain :

* Oh, whither go we, what paths shall we wander
When we no longer walk on earth's green pastures?'
Is there no one to show our spirits the way ?

Easier were it to show a way to the bat who fluttered by us.

"She laid her head on my shoulder, her soft hair,
She, who loved me, and whispered softly :

* Think not that souls fly to far-distant places ;
When I am dead, think not that I am far away.
Into my beloved's soul my homeless spirit will creep
And I will come and live in thee.'

** Oh what anguish ! With sorrow my heart will break.
Was she to die, die soon ? Was this night to be her last?
Did I press my last kiss on my beloved's waving hair ?

** Years have gone by since then. I still sit many times
In the old place, when the night is dark and silent.
But I tremble when the moon shines on the leafy veranda,
For her who alone knows how often I kissed my darling there,
For her who blended her quivering light with my tears.
Which fell on my darling's hair.
Alas, for memory's pain ! Oh, 't is the grief of my poor, sinful

soul
That it should be her home ! What punishment may he not

await
Who has bound to himself a soul so pure, so innocent."

"Gosta," says Anna, jestingly, while her throat
contracts with pain, "people say of you that you
have lived through more poems than others have
written, who have not done anything else all their
lives; but do you know, you will do best to compose
poems your own way. That was night work."

234 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

" You are not kind "

"To come and read such a thing, on death and
suffering — you ought to be ashamed ! '*

Gosta is not listening to her. His eyes are fixed
on the young countess. She sits quite stiff, motion-
less as a statue. He thinks she is going to faint.

But with infinite difficulty her lips form one word.

" Go ! " she says.

" Who shall go > Shall / go t "

" The priest shall go, " she stammers out.

"Elizabeth, be silent!"

" The drunken priest shall leave my house ! "

"Anna, Anna,** Gosta asks, "what does she
mean } **

"You had better go, Gosta."

" Why shall I go ? What does all this mean } "

"Anna,** says Countess Elizabeth, "tell him, tell
him ! **

" No, countess, tell him yourself ! "

The countess sets her teeth, and masters her
emotion.

"Herr Berling,** she says, and goes up to him,
" you have a wonderful power of making people for-
get who you are. I did not know it till to-day. I
have just heard the story of Ebba Dohna's death,
and that it was the discovery that she loved one who
was unworthy which killed her. Your poem has
made me understand that you are that man. I
cannot understand how any one with your antece-
dents can show himself in the presence of an honor-
able woman. I cannot understand it, Herr Berling.
Do I speak plainly enough } '*

" You do. Countess. I will only say one word in
my defence. I was convinced, I thought the whole

EBB A DOHNA'S STORY 235

time that you knew everything about me. I have
never tried to hide anything; but it is not so pleasant
to cry out one's life's bitterest sorrow on the high-
ways. "

He goes.

And in the same instant Countess Dohna sets her
little foot on the bunch of blue stars.

" You have now done what I wished, *' says Anna
Stjarnhok sternly to the countess; "but it is also
the end of our friendship. You need not think that
I can forgive your having been cruel to him. You
have turned him away, scorned, and wounded him,
and I — I will follow him into captivity ; to the
scaffold if need be. I will watch over him, protect
him. You have done what I wished, but I shall
never forgive you."

"But, Anna, Anna!"

" Because I told you all that do you think that I
did it with a glad spirit } Have I not sat here and
bit by bit torn my heart out of my breast } '*

" Why did you do it t "

" Why } Because I did not wish — that he should
be a married woman's lover."

236 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

CHAPTER XIII

MAMSELLE MARIE

There is a buzzing over my head. It must be a
bumblebee. And such a perfume! As true as I
live, it is sweet marjoram and lavender and hawthorn
and lilacs and Easter lilies. It is glorious to feel it on
a gray autumn evening in the midst of the town. I
only have to think of that little blessed corner of the
earth to have it immediately begin to hum and smell
fragrant about me, and I am transported to a little
square rose-garden, filled with flowers and protected
by a privet hedge. In the corners are lilac arbors
with small wooden benches, and round about the
flower-beds, which are in the shapes of hearts and
stars, wind narrow paths strewed with white sea-sand.
On three sides of the rose-garden stands the forest,
silent and dark.

On the fourth side lies a little gray cottage.

The rose-garden of which I am thinking was
owned sixty years ago by an old Madame Moreus in
Svartsjo, who made her living by knitting blankets for
the peasants and cooking their feists.

Old Madame Moreus was in her day the possessor
of many things. She had three lively and industrious
daughters and a little cottage by the roadside. She
had a store of pennies at the bottom of a chest, stifi"
silk shawls, straight-backed chairs, and could turn
her hand to everything, which is useful for one who

MAMSELLE MARIE

237

B^l

must earn her bread. But the best that she had was
the rose-garden, which gave her joy as long as the
summer lasted.

In Madame Moreus' little cottage there was a
boarder, a little dry old maid, about forty years of
age, who lived in a gable-room in the attic. Mamselle
Marie, as she was always called, had her own ideas
on many things, as one always does who sits much
alone and lets her thoughts dwell on what her eyes
have seen,

Mamselle Marie thought that love was the root and
origin of all evil in this sorrowful world.

Every evening, before she fell asleep, she used to
clasp her hands and say her evening prayers. After
she had said "Our Father" and "The Lord bless
us " she always ended by praying that God would
preserve her from love.

" It causes only misery," she said. " I am old and
ugly and poor. No, may I never be in love ! "

She sat day after day in her attic room in Madame
Moreus' little cottage, and knitted curtains and table-

ivers. All these she afterwards sold to the peasants

id the gentry. She had almost knitted together a

;Ie cottage of her own.

For a little cottage on the side of the hill opposite
Svartsjo church was what she wanted to have. But
love she would never hear of.

When on summer evenings she heard the violin
sounded from the cross roads, where the fiddler sat
on the stile, and the young people swung in the polka
till the dust whirled, she went a long way round
through the wood to avoid hearing and seeing.

The day after Christmas, when the peasant brides
five or six of them, to be dressed by Madame

238 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Moreus and her daughters, when they were adorned
with wreaths of myrtle, and high crowns of silk, and
glass beads, with gorgeous silk sashes and bunches of
artificial roses, and skirts edged with garlands of
taffeta flowers, she stayed up in her room to avoid see-
ing how they were being decked out in Love's honor.

But she knew Love's misdeeds, and of them she
could tell. She wondered that he dared to show him-
self on earth, that he was not frightened away by
the moans of the forsaken, by the curses of those of
whom he had made criminals, by the lamentations of
those whom he had thrown into hateful chains. She
wondered that his wings could bear him so easily
and lightly, that he did not, weighed down by pain
and shame, sink into nameless depths.

No, of course she had been young, she like others,
but she had never loved. She had never let her-
self be tempted by dancing and caresses. Her
mother's guitar hung dusty and unstrung in the attic;
she never struck it to sentimental love-ditties.

Her mother's rose bushes stood in her window.
She gave them scarcely any water. She did not love
flowers, those children of love. Spiders played
among the branches, and the buds never opened.

There came a time when the Svartsjo congrega-
tion had an organ put '.ito their church. It was the
summer before the year when the pensioners reigned.
A young organ-builder came there. He too became
a boarder at Madame Moreus*.

That the young organ-builder was a master of his
profession may be a matter of doubt. But he was a
gay young blade, with sunshine in his eyes. He had
a friendly word for every one, for rich and poor, for
old and young.

MAMSELLE MARIE 239

When he came home from his work in the evening,
he held Madame Moreus' skeins, and worked at the
side of young girls in the rose-garden. Then he de-
claimed " Axel " and sang " Frithiof." He picked up
Mamselle Marie's ball of thread as often as she
dropped it, and put her clock to rights.

He never left any ball until he had danced with
everybody, from the oldest woman to the youngest
girl, and if an adversity befell him, he sat himself
down by the side of the first woman he met and made
her his confidante. He was such a man as women
create in their dreams ! It could not be said of him
that he spoke of love to any one. But when he had
lived a few weeks in Madame Moreus' gable-room, all
the girls were in love with him, and poor Mamselle
Marie knew that she had prayed her prayers in vain.

That was a time of sorrow and a time of joy. In
the evening a pale dreamer often sat in the lilac
arbor, and up in Mamselle Marie's little room the
newly strung guitar twanged to old love-songs, which
she had learned from her mother.

The young organ-builder was just as careless and
gay as ever, and doled out smiles and services to all
these languishing women, who quarrelled over him
when he was away at his work. And at last the day
came when he had to leave.

The carriage stood before the door. His bag had
been tied on behind, and the young man said farewell.
He kissed Madame Moreus' hand and took the weep-
ing girls in his arms and kissed them on the cheek.
He wept himself at being obliged to go, for he had
had a pleasant summer in the little gray cottage. At
the last he looked around for Mamselle Marie.

She came down the narrow attic-stairs in her best

240 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

array. The guitar hung about her neck on a broad,
green-silk ribbon, and in her hand she held a bunch
of damask roses, for this year her mother's rose-
bushes had blossomed. She stood before the young
man, struck the guitar and sang : —

" Thou goest far from us. Ah I welcome again !
Hear the voice of my friendship, which greets thee.
Be happy : forget not a true, loving friend
Who in Varmland's forests awaits thee 1 "

Thereupon she put the flowers in his button-
hole and kissed him square on the mouth. Yes, and
then she vanished up the attic stairs again, the old
apparition.

Love had revenged himself on her and made her
a spectacle for all men. But she never again com-
plained of him. She never laid away the guitar, and
never forgot to water her mother's rose-bushes.

She had learned to cherish Love with all his pain,
his tears, his longing.

" Better to be sorrowful with him than happy with-
out him," she said.

The time passed. The major's wife at Ekeby was
driven out, the pensioners came to power, and it so
happened, as has been described, that Gosta Berling
one Sunday evening read a poem aloud to the
countess at Borg, and afterwards was forbidden by
her to show himself in her house.

It is said that when Gosta shut the hall-door after
him he saw several sledges driving up to Borg. He
cast a glance on the little lady who sat in the first
sledge. Gloomy as the hour was for him, it became
still more gloomy at the sight. He hurried away
not to be recognized, but forebodings of disaster filled

MAMSELLE MARIE. 241

his soul. Had the conversation in there conjured up
this woman? One misfortune always brings another.

But the servants hurried out, the shawls and furs
were thrown one side. Who had come? Who was
the little lady who stood up in the sledge? Ah, it is
really she herself, Marta Dohna, the far-famed
countess !

She was the gayest and most foolish of women.
Joy had lifted her on high on his throne and made
her his queen. Games and laughter were her subjects.
Music and dancing and adventure had been her share
when the lottery of life was drawn.

She was not far now from her fiftieth year, but she
was one of the wise, who do not count the years. " He
whose foot is not ready to dance, or mouth to laugh,"
she said, " he is old. He knows the terrible weight
of years, not I."

Pleasure had no undisturbed throne in the days of
her youth, but change and uncertainty only increased
the delight of his glad presence. His Majesty of the
butterfly wings one day had afternoon tea in the
court ladies' rooms at the palace in Stockholm, and
danced the next in Paris. He visited Napoleon's
camps, he went on board Nelson's fleet in the blue
Mediterranean, he looked in on a congress at Vienna,
he risked his life at Brussels at a ball the night
before a famous battle.

And wherever Pleasure was, there too was Marta
Dohna, his chosen queen. Dancing, playing, jesting,
Countess Marta hurried the whole world round.
What had she not seen, what had . she not lived
through ? She had danced over thrones, played 6cart6
on the fate of princes, caused devastating wars by her
jests ! Gayety and folly had filled her life and would

16

242 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

always do so. Her body was not too old for dancing,
nor her heart for love. When did she weary of mas-
querades and comedies, of merry stories and plaintive
ballads ?

When Pleasure sometimes could find no home out
in the struggling world, she used to drive up to the
old manor by Lofven's shores, — just as she had come
there when the princes and their court had become
too gloomy for her in the time of the Holy Alliance.
It was then she had thought best to make Gosta Ber-
ling her son's tutor. She always enjoyed it there.
Never had Pleasure a pleasanter kingdom. There
song was to be found and card-playing, men who
loved adventure, and gay, lovely women. She did
not lack for dances and balls, nor boating-parties
over moonlit seas, nor sledging through dark forests,
nor appalling adventures and love's sorrow and pain.

But after her daughter's death she had ceased to
come to Borg. She had not been there for five years.
Now she had come to see how her daughter-in-law
bore the life up among the pine forests, the bears,
and the snow-drifts. She thought it her duty to
come and see if the stupid Henrik had not bored
her to death with his tediousness. She meant to be
the gentle angel of domestic peace. Sunshine and
happiness were packed in her forty leather trunks,
Gayety was her waiting-maid. Jest her coachman,
Play her companion.

And when she ran up the steps she was met with
open arms. Her old rooms on the lower floor were
in order for her. Her man-servant, her lady com-
panion, and maid, her forty leather trunks, her thirty
hat-boxes, her bags and shawls and furs, everything
was brought by degrees into the house. There was

V"'

MAMSELLE MARIE 243

Vustle and noise everywhere. There was a slamming
of doors and a running on the stairs. It was plain
enough that Countess Marta had come.

It was a spring evening, a really beautiful spring

'ening, although it was only April and the ice had
not broken up. Mamselle Marie had opened her
window. She sat in her room, played on the guitar,
and sang.

She was so engrossed in her guitar and her mem-
ories that she did not hear that a carriage came
driving up the road and stopped at the cottage. In
the carriage Countess Marta sat, and it amused her
to see Mamselle Marie, who sat at the window with
her guitar on her lap, and with eyes turned towards
heaven sang old forgotten love-songs.

At last the countess got out of the carriage and
went into the cottage, where the girls were sitting at
their work. She was never haughty; the wind of
revolution had whistled over her and blown fresh air
into her lungs.

It was not her fault that she was a countess, she
used to say; but she wanted at all events to live the
life she liked best. She enjoyed herself just as much
at peasant weddings as at court balls. She acted
for her maids when there was no other spectator to be
had, and she brought joy with her in all the places
where she showed herself, with her beautiful little face
and her overflowing love of life.

She ordered a blanket of Madame Moreus and
praised the girls. She looked about the rose-garden
and told of her adventures on the journey. She
always was having adventures. And at the last she

iturcd up the attic stairs, which were dreadfully

244 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLTNG

Steep and narrow, and sought out Mamselle Marie
in her gable-room.

She bought curtains of her. She could not live
without having knitted curtains for all her windows,
and on every table should she have Mamselle Marie's
table-covers.

She borrowed her guitar and sang to her of
pleasure and love. And she told her stories, so that
Mamselle Marie found herself transported out into
the gay, rushing world. And the countess's laughter
made such music that the frozen birds in the rose-
garden began to sing when they heard it, and her
face, which was hardly pretty now, — for her com-
plexion was ruined by paint, and there was such an
expression of sensuality about the mouth, — seemed
to Mamselle Marie so lovely that she wondered how
the little mirror could let it vanish when it had once
caught it on its shining surface.

When she left, she kissed Mamselle Marie and
asked her to come to Borg.

Mamselle Marie's heart was as empty as the swal-
low's-nest at Christmas. She was free, but she sighed
for chains like a slave freed in his old age.

Now there began again for Mamselle Marie a time
of joy and a time of sorrow; but it did not last long,
— only one short week.

The countess sent for her continually to come to
Borg. She played her comedy for her and told
about all her lovers, and Mamselle Marie laughed as
she had never laughed before. They became the
best of friends. The countess soon knew all about
the young organ-builder and about the parting.
And in the twilight she made Mamselle Marie sit on
the window-seat in the little blue cabinet. Then she

MAMSELLE MARIE 245

hung the guitar ribbon round her neck and got her to
sing love-songs. And the countess sat and watched
how the old maid's dry, thin figure and little plain
head were outlined against the red evening sky, and
she said that the poor old Mamselle was like a lan-
guishing maiden of the Middle Ages. All the songs
were of tender shepherds and cruel shepherdesses, and
Mamselle Marie's voice was the thinnest voice in
the world, and it is easy to understand how the
countess was amused at such a comedy.

There was a party at Borg, as was natural, when
the count's mother had come home. And it was gay
as always. There were not so many there, only the
members of the parish being invited.

The dining-room was on the lower floor, and after
supper it so happened that the guests did not go up-
stairs again, but sat in Countess Marta's room, which
lay beyond. The countess got hold of Mamselle
Marie's guitar and began to sing for the company.
She was a merry person. Countess Marta, and she
could mimic any one. She now had the idea to
mimic Mamselle Marie. She turned up her eyes to
heaven and sang in a thin, shrill, child's voice.

" Oh no, oh no, countess ! " begged Mamselle Marie.

But the countess was enjoying herself, and no one
could help laughing, although they all thought that
it was hard on Mamselle Marie.

The countess took a handful of dried rose-leaves
out of a pot-pourri jar, went with tragic gestures up
to Mamselle Marie, and sang with deep emotion : —

" Thou goest far from us. Ah 1 welcome again !
Hear the voice of my friendship, which greets thee.
Be happy : forget not a true, loving friend
Who in Varmland^s forests awaits thee I *'

^4^ THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

Then she strewed the rose-leaves over her head.
Everybody laughed; but Mamselle Marie was wild
with rage. She looked as if she could have torn out
the countess's eyes.

" You are a bad woman, Marta Dohna/' she said.
" No decent woman ought to speak to you."

Countess Marta lost her temper too.

" Out with you, mamselle ! " she said. " I have
had enough of your folly."

" Yes, I shall go," said Mamselle Marie ; " but first
I will be paid for my covers and curtains which you
have put up here."

" The old rags ! " cried the countess. " Do you
want to be paid for such rags? Take them away
with you ! I never want to see them again I Take
them away immediately ! "

Thereupon the countess threw the table-covers at her
and tore down the curtains, for she was beside herself.

The next day the young countess begged her
mother-in-law to make her peace with Mamselle
Marie ; but the countess would not She was tired
of her.

Countess Elizabeth then bought of Mamselle Marie
the whole set of curtains and put them up in the
upper floor. Whereupon Mamselle Marie felt her-
self redressed. I

Countess Marta made fun of her daughter-in-law
for her love of knitted curtains. She too could con-
ceal her anger — preserve it fresh and new for years.
She was a richly gifted person.

PART II

CHAPTER I

COUSIN CHRISTOPHER

They had an old bird of prey up in the pensioners'
wing. He always sat in the corner by the fire and
saw that it did not go out. He was rough and gray.
His little head with the big nose and the sunken eyes
hung sorrowfully on the long, thin neck which stuck
up out of a fluffy fur collar. For the bird of prey
wore furs both winter and summer.

Once he had belonged to the swarm who in the
great Emperor's train swept over Europe ; but what
name and title he bore no one now can say. In Varm-
land they only knew that he had taken part in the
great wars, that he had risen to might and power in
the thundering struggle, and that after 1815 he had
taken flight from an ungrateful fatherland. He found
a refuge with the Swedish Crown Prince, and the
latter advised hkn to disappear in far away Varmland.

And so it happened that one whose name had
caused the world to tremble was now glad that no
one even knew that once dreaded name.

He had given the Crown Prince his word of honor
not to leave Varmland and not to make known who

248 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERLING

he was. And he had been sent to Ekeby with a pri-
vate letter to the major from the Crown Prince, who
had given him the best of recommendations. It was
then the pensioners' wing opened its doors to him.

In the beginning people wondered much who he was
who concealed his identity under an assumed name.
But gradually he was transformed into a pensioner.
Everybody called him Cousin Christopher, without
knowing exactly how he had acquired the name.

But it is not good for a bird of prey to live in a
cage. One can understand that he is accustomed to
something different than hopping from perch to perch
and taking food from his keeper's hand. The excite-
ment of the battle and of the danger of death had set
his pulse on fire. Drowsy peace disgusts him.

It is true that none of the pensioners were exactly
tame birds ; but in none of them the blood burned so
hot as in Cousin Christopher. A bear hunt was the only
thing which could put life into him, a bear hunt or a
woman, one single woman.

He had come to life when he, ten years ago, for the
first time saw Countess Marta, who was already then
a widow, — a woman as changeable as war, as inciting
as danger, a startling, audacious creature ; he loved her.

And now he sat there and grew old and gray with-
out being able to ask her to be his wife. He had not
seen her for five years. He was withering and dying by
degrees, as caged eagles do. Every year he became
more dried and frozen. He had to creep down
deeper into his furs and move nearer the fire.

So there he is sitting, shivering, shaggy, and gray,
the morning of the day, on the evening of which the
Easter bullets should be shot off and the Easter witch

"till

COUSIN CHRISTOPHER 249

urned. The pensioners have all gone out ; but he
sits in the corner by the fire.

Oh, Cousin Christopher, Cousin Christopher, do

lu not know?

Smiling she has come, the enchanting spring.

Nature up starts from drowsy sleep, and in the
ilue sky butterfly- winged spirits tumble in wild play.
Close as roses on the sweet brier, their faces shine
between the clouds.

Earth, the great mother, begins to live. Romping
Uke a child she rises from her bath in the spring floods,
from her douche in the spring rain.

But Cousin Christopher sits quiet and does not
understand. He leans his head on his stiffened fingers
and dreams of showers of bullets and of honors won
on the field of battle.

One pities the lonely old warrior who sits there by
the fire, without a people, without a country, he who
never hears the sound of his native language, he who
will have a nameless grave in the Bro churchyard.
Is it his fault that he is an eagle, and was born to per-
secute and to kill?

Oh, Cousin Christopher, you have sat and dreamed
long enough in the pensioners' wing! Up and drink
the sparkling wine of life. You must know, Cousin
Christopher, that a letter has come to the major this
day, a royal letter adorned with the seal of Sweden.
It is addressed to the major, but the contents concern
you. It is strange to see you, when you read the
letter, old eagle. Your eye regains its brightness, and

hu lift your head- You see the cage door open and
space for your longing wings.

K Cousin Christopher is burrowing deep down to the
ttom of his chest. He drags out the carefully laid

250 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

away gold-laced uniform and dresses himself in it
He presses the plumed hat on his head and he is soon
hastening away from Ekeby, riding his excellent
white horse.

This is another life than to sit shivering by the fire ;
he too now sees that spring has come.

He straightens himself up in his saddle and sets off
at a gallop. The fur-lined dolman flutters. The
plumes on his hat wave. The man has grown young
like the earth itself. He has awaked from a long
winter. The old gold can still shine. The bold war-
rior face under the cocked hat is a proud sight.

It is a wonderful ride. Brooks gush from the
ground, and flowers shoot forth, as he rides by. The
birds sing and warble about the freed prisoner. All
nature shares in his joy.

He is like a victor. Spring rides before on a float-
ing cloud. And round about Cousin Christopher
rides a stafi" of old brothers-in-arms : there is Happi-
ness, who stands on tiptoe in the saddle, and Honor
on his stately charger, and Love on his fiery Arab. The
ride is wonderful ; wonderful is the rider. The thrush
calls to him : —

"Cousin Christopher, Cousin Christopher, whither
are you riding? Whither are you riding?"

" To Borg to offer myself, to Borg to offer myself,"
answers Cousin Christopher.

" Do not go to Borg, do not go to Borg ! An un-
married man has no sorrow," screams the thrush
after him.

But he does not listen to the warning. Up the
hills and down the hills he rides, until at last he is
there. He leaps from the saddle and is shown in to
the countess.

COUSIN CHRISTOPHER 25 1

Everything goes well. The countess is gracious to
him. Cousin Christopher feels sure that she will not
refuse to bear his glorious name or to reign in his
palace. He sits and puts off the moment of rapture,
when he shall show her the royal letter. He enjoys
the waiting.'

She talks and entertains him with a thousand
stories. He laughs at everything, enjoys everything.
But as they are sitting in one of the rooms where
Countess Elizabeth has hung up Mamselle Marie's
curtains, the countess begins to tell the story of
them. And she makes it as funny as she can.

*' See," she says at last, " see how bad I am. Here
hang the curtains now, that I may think daily and
hourly of my sin. It is a penance without equal.
Oh, those dreadful knitted curtains ! "

The great warrior. Cousin Christopher, looks at
her with burning eyes.

" I, too, am old and poor," he says, " and I have
sat for ten years by the fire and longed for my mis-
tress. Do you laugh at that too, countess ? "

" Oh, that is another matter," cries the countess.

" God has talcen from me happiness and my father-
land, and forced me to eat the bread of others," says
Cousin Christopher, earnestly. " I have learned to
have respect for poverty."

" You, too," cries the countess, and holds up her
hands. " How virtuous every one is getting ! "

" Yes," he says, " and know, countess, that if God
some day in the future should give me back riches
and power, I would make a better use of them than to
share them with such a worldly woman, such a painted,
heartless monkey, who makes fun of poverty."

" You would do quite right, Cousin Christopher."

252 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

And then Cousin Christopher marches out of the
room and rides home to Ekeby again; but the
spirits do not follow him, the thrush does not call to
him, and he no longer sees the smiling spring.

He came to Ekeby just as the Easter witch was to
be burned. She is a big doll of straw, with a rag
face, on which eyes, nose, and mouth are drawn with
charcoal. She is dressed in old cast-off clothes. The
long-handled oven-rake and broom are placed beside
her, and she has a horn of oil hung round her neck.
She is quite ready for the journey to hell.

Major Fuchs loads his gun and shoots it off into
the air time after time. A pile of dried branches is
lighted, the witch is thrown on it and is soon burning
gayly. The pensioners do all they can, according to
the old, tried customs, to destroy the power of the
evil one.

Cousin Christopher stands and looks on with gloomy
mien. Suddenly he drags the great royal letter from
his cuff and throws it on the fire. God alone knows
what he thought. Perhaps he imagined that it was
Countess Marta herself who was burning there on the
pile. Perhaps he thought that, as that woman, when
all was said, consisted only of rags and straw, there
was nothing worth anything any more on earth.

He goes once more into the pensiapers' wing,
lights the fire, and puts away his uniform. Again he
sits down at the fire, and every day he gets more
rough and more gray. He is dying by degrees, as
old eagles do in captivity.

He IS no longer a prisoner ; but he does not care
to make use of his freedom. The world stands open
to him. The battle-field, honor, life, await him. But
he has not the strength to spread his wings in flight

THE PATHS OF LIFE 253

CHAPTER II

THE PATHS OF LIFE

Weary are the ways which men have to follow here
on earth.

Paths through the desert, paths through the marshes,
paths over the mountains.

Why is so much sorrow allowed to go undisturbed,
until it loses itself in the desert or sinks in the bog,
or falls on the mountain? Where are the little
flower-pickers, where are the little princesses of the
fairy tale about whose feet roses grow, where are
they who should strew flowers on the weary ways?

Gosta Berling has decided to get married. He is
searching for a bride who is poor enough, humble
enough for a mad priest.

Beautiful and high-born women have loved him,
but they may not compete for his hand. The out-
cast chooses from among outcasts.

Whom shall he choose, whom shall he seek out?

To Ekeby a poor girl sometimes comes from a
lonely forest hamlet far away among the mountains,
and sells brooms. In that hamlet, where poverty
and great misery exist, there are many who are not
in possession of their full intellect, and the girl with
the brooms is one of them.

But she is beautiful. Her masses of black hair
make such thick braids that they scarcely And room

254 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

on her head, her cheeks are delicately rounded, her
nose straight and not too large, her eyes blue. She
is of a melancholy, Madonna-like type, such as is.
still found among the lovely girls by the shores of
Lofven's long lake.

Well, Gosta has found his sweetheart; a half-
crazy broom-girl is just the wife for a mad priest
Nothing can be more suitable.

All he needs to do is to go to Karlstad for the
rings, and then they can once more have a merry
day by Lofven's shore. Let them laugh at Gosta
Berling when he betroths himself to the broom-girj^,
when he celebrates his wedding with her 1 Let them
laugh ! Has he ever had a merrier idea?

Must not the outcast go the way of the outcasts,
— the way of anger, the way of sorrow, the way pf
unhappiness? What does it matter if he falls, if hfe
is ruined? Is there any one to stop him? Is there
any one who would reach him a helping hand or
offer him a cooling drink? Where are the little
flower-pickers, where are the little princesses of the
fairy-tale, where are they who should strew roses on
the stony ways?

No, no, the gentle young countess at Borg will not
interfere with Gosta Berling's plans. She must think
of her reputation, she must think of her husband's
anger and her mother-in-law's hate, she must not do
anything to keep him back.

All through the long service in the Svartsjo church,
she must bend her head, fold her hands, and only
pray for him. During sleepless nights she can weep
and grieve over him, but she has no flowers to strew
on the way of the outcast, not a drop of water to
give one who is thirsting. She does not stretch out

THE PATHS OF UFE 255

her hand to lead him back from the edge of the
precipice.

Gosta Beiiing does not care to clothe his chosen
bride in silk and jewels. He lets her go from farm
to farm with brooms, as her habit is, but when he
has gathered together all the chief men and women
of the place at a great feast at Ekeby, he will make
his betrothal known. He will call her in from the
kitchen, just as she has come from her long wander-
ings, with the dust and dirt of the road on her clothes,
perhaps ragged, perhaps with dishevelled hair, with
wild eyes, with an incoherent stream of words on
her lips. And he will ask the guests if he has not
chosen a suitable bride, if the mad priest ought
not to be proud of such a lovely sweetheart, of
that gentle Madonna face, of those blue, dreamy
eyes.

He intended that no one should know anything
beforehand, but he did not succeed in keeping the
secret, and one of those who heard it was the young
Countess Dohna.

But what can she do to stop him? It is the engage-
ment day, the eleventh hour has come. The count-
ess stands at the window in the blue cabinet and
looks out towards the north. She almost thinks that
she can see Ekeby, although her eyes are dim with
tears. She can see how the great three-storied house
shines with three rows of lighted windows ; she thinks
how the champagne flows in the glasses, how the
toast resounds and how Gosta Berling proclaims his
engagement to the broom-girl.

If she were only near him and quite gently could lay
her hand on his arm, or only give him a friendly look,
would he not turn back from the evil way? If a

2S6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

word from her had driven him to such a desperate
deed, would not also a word from her check him? **

She shudders at the sin he is going to commit
against that poor, half-witted child. She shudders
at his sin against the unfortunate creature, who shall
be won to love him, perhaps only for the jest of a
single day. Perhaps too — and then she shudders
even more at the sin he is committing against him-
self — to chain fast to his life such a galling burden,
which would always take from his spirit the strength
to reach the highest.

And the fault was chiefly hers. She had with a
word of condemnation driven him on the evil way.
She, who had come to bless, to alleviate, why had
she twisted one more thorn into the sinner's crown ?

Yes, now she knows what she will do. She will
have the black horses harnessed into the sledge,
hasten over the Lofven and to Ekeby, place herself
opposite to Gosta Berling, and tell him that she does
not despise him, that she did riot know what she was
saying when she drove him from her house. No,
she could never do such a thing; she would be
ashamed and would not dare to say a word. Now
that she was married, she must take care. There
would be such a scandal if she did such a thing.
But if she did not do it, how would it go with him?

She must go.

Then she remembers that such a plan is impossible.
No horse can go again this year over the ice. The
ice is melting, it has already broken away from the
land. It is broken, cracked, terrible to see. Water
bubbles up through it, in some places it has gathered
in black pools, in other places the ice is dazzlingly
white. It is mostly gray, dirty with melting snow,

THE PATHS OF LIFE 2$/

and the roads look like long, black streaks on its
surface.

How can she think of going? Old Countess
Marta, her mother-in-law, would never permit such a
thing.. She must sit beside her the whole evening in
the drawing-room and listen to those old stories
which are the older woman's delight.

At last the night comes, and her husband is away ;
she is free.

She cannot drive, she does not dare to call the
servants, but her anxiety drives her out of her home.
There is nothing else for her to do.

Weary are the ways men wander on earth ; but that
way by night over melting ice, to what shall I com-
pare it? Is it not the way which the little flower-
pickers have to go, an uncertain, shaking, slippery
way, the way of those who wish to make amends, the
way of the light foot, the quick eye, and the brave,
loving heart?

It was past midnight when the countess reached
the shores of Ekeby. She had fallen on the ice,
she had leaped over wide fissures, she had hurried
across places where her footprints were filled with
bubbling water, she had slipped, she had crept on all
fours.

It had been a weary wandering ; she had wept as
she had walked. She was wet and tired, and out
there on the ice, the darkness and the loneliness had
given her terrible thoughts.

At the last she had had to wade in water over
her ankles to reach land. And when she had come
to the shore, she had not had the courage to do
more than sit down on a rock and weep from fatigue
and helplessness.

17

2S8 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

This young, high-born lady was, however, a brave
little heroine. She had never gone such ways in her
bright mother country. She may well sit by the
edge of that terrible lake, wet, tired, unhappy as she
is, and think of the fair, flowery paths of her South-
ern fatherland.

Ah, for her it is not a question of South or North.
She is not weeping from homesickness. She is
weeping because she is so tired, because she will not
come in time. She thinks that she has come too
late.

Then people come running along the shore. They
hurry by her without seeing her, but she hears what
they say.

" If the dam gives way, the smithy goes," one
says. "And the mill and the work-shops and the
smith's house," adds another.

Then she gets new courage, rises, and follows
them.

Ekeby mill and smithy lay on a narrow point past
which the Bjorksjo River rushes. It comes roaring
down towards the point, whipped white in the
mighty falls above, and to protect the land a great
break-water was built before the point. But the dam
was old now, and the pensioners were in power. In
their day the dance filled all their thoughts, and no
one took the trouble to see how the current and
the cold and time had worn the old stone-dam.

Now with the spring-floods the dam begins to
yield.

The falls at Ekeby are like mighty granite stairs,
down which the waves come rushing. Giddy with
the speed, they tumble over one another and rush

THE PATHS OF LIFE 259

together. They rise up in anger and dash in spray
over one another, fall again, over a rock, over a
log, and rise up again, again to fall, again and again,
foaming, hissing, roaring.

And now these wild, raging waves, drunken with
the spring air, dizzy with their newly won freedom,
storm against the old stone-wall. They come, hissing
and tearing, high up on to it and then fall back again,
as if they had hit their white heads. They use logs
as battering-rams, they strain, they beat, they rush
against that poor wall, until suddenly, just as if some
one had called to them, " Look out ! " they rush
backwards, and after them comes a big stone, which
has broken away from the dam and sinks thundering
down in the stream.

But why are these wild waves allowed to rage
without meeting any resistance? Is every one dead
at Ekeby?

No, there are people enough there, — a wild, per-
plexed, helpless crowd of people. The night is dark,
they cannot see one another, nor see where they are
going. Loud roars the falls, terrible is the din of the
breaking ice and the pounding logs ; they cannot hear
their own voices. They have not a thought nor an
idea. They feel that the end is coming. The dam
is trembling, the smithy is in danger, the mill is in
danger, and their own poor houses beloved in all
their lowliness.

Message after message is sent up to the house to
the pensioners.

Are they in a mood to think of smithy or mill?
The hundred guests are gathered in the wide walls.
The broom-girl is waiting in the kitchen. The hour
has come. The champagne bubbles in the glasses.

26o THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

Julius rises to make the speech. All the old adven-
turers at Ekeby are rejoicing at the petrifying amaze-
ment which will fall upon the assembly.

Out on the ice the young Countess Dohna is wan-
dering a terrible, perilous way in order to whisper a
word of warning to Gosta Berling. Down at the
waterfall the waves are storming the honor and
might of Ekeby, but in the wide halls only joy and
eager expectation reign, wax-candles are shining,
wine is flowing ; no one thinks of what is happening
in the dark, stormy spring night.

Now has the moment come. Gosta rises and goes
out to bring in his sweetheart. He has to go
through the hall, and its great doors are standing
open; he stops, he looks out into the pitch dark
night — and he hears, he hears!

He hears the bells ringing, the falls roaring. He
hears the thunder of the breaking ice, the noise of
the pounding logs, the rebellious waves' rushing and
threatening voice.

He hastens out into the night, forgetting every-
thing. Let them inside stand with lifted glasses till
the world's last day ; he cares nothing for them.
The broom-girl can wait, Julius's speech may die on
his lips. There would be no rings exchanged that
night, no paralyzing amazement would fall upon the
shining assembly.

Now the waves must in truth fight for their free-
dom; for Gosta Berling has come, the people have
found a leader. Terrified hearts take courage, a
terrible struggle begins.

Hear how he calls to the people ; he commands,
he sets all to work.

" We must have light, light first of all ; the miller's

THE PATHS OF LIFE 26l

horn-lantern is not enough. See all those piles of
branches ; carry them up on the cliff and set fire to
them. That is work for the women and children.
Only be quick ; build up a great flaming brush-pile
and set fire to it ! That will light up our work ; that
will be seen far and wide and bring more to help us.
And let it never go out ! Bring straw, bring branches,
let the flames stream up to the sky ! "

** Look, look, you men, here is work for you.
Here is timber, here are planks ; make a temporary
dam, which we can sink in front of this breaking
wall. Quick, quick to work ; make it firm and solid !
Get ready stones and sand-bags to sink it with !
Quick ! Swing your axes ! To work ! to work ! "

** And where are the boys? Get poles, get boat-
hooks, and come out here in the midst of the struggle.
Out on the dam with you, boys, right in the waves.
Keep off, weaken, drive back their attacks, before
which the walls are cracking. Push aside the logs
and pieces of ice ; throw yourselves down, if nothing
else helps, and hold the loosening stones with your
hands ; bite into them, seize them with claws of iron.
Out on the wall, boys ! We shall fight for every inch
of land."

Gosta himself takes his stand farthest out on the
dam and stands there covered with spray ; the ground
shakes under him, the waves thunder and rage, but
his wild heart rejoices at the danger, the anxiety, the
struggle. He laughs. He jokes with the boys about
him on the dam ; he has never had a merrier night.

The work of rescue goes quickly forward, the fire
flames, the axes resound, and the dam stands.

The other pensioners and the hundred guests have
come down to the waterfall. People come running

262 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

from near and far; all are working, at the fires, at
the temporary dam, at the sand-bags, out on the
tottering, trembling stone-wall.

Now the temporary dam is ready, and shall be
sunk in front of the yielding break-water. Have the
stones and sand-bags ready, and boat-hooks and rope,
that it may not be carried away, that the victory
may be for the people, and the cowed waves return
to their bondage.

It so happens that just before the decisive moment
Gosta catches sight of a woman who is sitting on
a stone at the water's edge. The flames from the
bonfire light her up where she sits staring out over
the waves ; he cannot see her clearly and distinctly
through the mist and spray, but his eyes are con-
tinually drawn to her. Again and again he has to
look at her. He feels as if that woman had a special
errand to him.

Among all these hundreds who are working and
busy, she is the only one who sits still, and to her
his eyes keep turning, he can see nothing else.

She is sitting so far out that the waves break at
her feet, and the spray dashes over her. She must
be dripping wet. Her dress is dark, she has a black
shawl over her head, she sits shrunk together, her
chin on her hand, and stares persistently at him out
on the dam. He feels as if those staring eyes were
drawing and calling, although he cannot even dis-
tinguish her face; he thinks of nothing but the
woman who sits on the shore by the white waves.

'* It is the sea-nymph from the Lofven, who has
come up the river to lure me to destruction," he
thinks. '' She sits there and calls and calls. I must
go and drive her away."

THE PATHS OF LIFE 263

All these waves with their white heads seem to
him the black woman's hair; it was she who set
them on, who led the attack against him.

" I really must drive her away," he says.

He seizes a boat-hook, runs to the shore, and
hurries away to the woman.

He leaves his place on the end of the dam to drive
the sea-nymph away. He felt, in that moment of
excitement, as if the evil powers of the deep were
fighting against him. He did not know what he
thought, what he believed, but he must drive that
black thing away from the stone by the river's edge.

Alas, Gdsta, why is your place empty in the
decisive moment? They are coming with the tem-
porary dam, a long row of men station themselves
on the break-water; they have ropes and stones and
sand-bags ready to weight it down and hold it in
place ; they stand ready, they wait, they listen. Where
is their leader? Is there no voice to command?

No, Gosta BerUng is chasing the sea-nymph, his
voice is silent, his commands lead no one.

So the temporary dam has to be sunk without him.
The waves rush back, it sinks into the water and
after it the stones and sand-bags. But how is the
work carried out without a leader? No care, no order.
The waves dash up again, they break with renewed
rage against this new obstacle, they begin to roll the
sand-bags over, tear the ropes, loosen the stones ; and
they succeed, they succeed. Threatening, rejoicing,
they lift the whole dam on their strong shoulders.
tear and drag on it, and then they have it in their
power. Away with the miserable defence, down to
the Lofvcn with it. And then on once more against
jhe tottering, helpless stone-wall.

264 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

But Gosta is chasing the sea-nymph. She saw
him as he came towards her swinging the boat-
hook. She was frightened. It looked as if she
was going to throw herself into the water, but she
changed her mind and ran to the land.

" Sea-nymph ! " cries Gosta, and brandishes the boat-
hook. She runs in among the alder-bushes, gets
entangled in their thick branches, and stops.

Then Gosta throws away the boat-hook, goes for-
ward, and lays his hand on her shoulder.

"You are out late to-night, Countess Elizabeth,"
he says.

" Let me alone, Herr Berling, let me go home ! "

He obeys instantly and turns away from her.

But since she is not only a high-born lady, but a
really kind little woman, who cannot bear the thought
that she has driven any one to despair; since she
i3 a little flower-picker, who always has roses enough
in her basket to adorn the barrenest way, she re-
pents, goes after him and seizes his hand.

'* I came," she says, and stammers, " I came
to — Oh, Herr Berling, you have not done it? Say
that you have not done it! I was so frightened
when you came running after me, but it was you
I wanted to meet I wanted to ask you not to think
of what I said the other day, and to come to see me
as usual."

" How have you come here, countess? "

She laughs nervously. " I knew that I should
come too late, but I did not like to tell any one
that I was going; and besides, you know, it is im-
possible to drive over the ice now."

'* Have you walked across the lake, countess?"

" Yes, yes, of course ; but, Herr Berling, tell me.

THE PATHS OF LIFE 265

Are you engaged? You understand; I wish so you
were not. It is so wrong, you see, and I felt as if
the whole thing was my fault. You should not have
minded a word from me so much. I am a stranger,
who does not know the customs of the country.
It is so dull at Borg since you do not come any
more, Herr Berling."

It seems to Gosta Berling, as he stands among the
wet alder-bushes on the marshy ground, as if some
one were throwing over him armfuls of roses. He
wades in roses up to his knees, they shine before his
eyes in the darkness, he eagerly drinks in their
fragrance.

** Have you done that? " she repeats.

He must make up his mind to answer her and to
put an end to her anxiety, although his joy is so
great over it. It grows so warm in him and so bright
when he thinks what a way she has wandered, how
wet she is, how frozen, how frightened she must have
been, how broken with weeping her voice sounds.

" No," he says, ** I am not engaged."

Then she takes his hand again and strokes it " I
am so glad, I am so glad," she says, and her voice is
shaken with sobs.

There are flowers enough now on the poet's way,
everything dark, evil, and hateful melts from his
heart.

** How good you are, how good you are ! " he
says.

At their side the waves are rushing against all
Ekeby's honor and glory. The people have no
leader, no one to instil courage and hope into their
hearts ; the dam gives way, the waves close over it,
and then rush triumphant forward to the point where

266 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

the mill and smithy stand. No one tries any longer
to resist the waves ; no one thinks of anything but of
saving life and property.

It seems quite natural to both the young people
that Gosta should escort the countess home ; he can-
not leave her alone in this dark night, nor let her again
wander alone over the melting ice. They never think
that he is needed up at the smithy, they are so happy
that they are friends again.

One might easily believe that these young people
cherish a warm love for one another, but who can be
sure? In broken fragments the glowing adventures
of their lives have come to me. I know nothing,
or next to nothing, of what was in their innermost
souls. What can I say of the motives of their actions.
I only know that that night a beautiful young woman
risked her life, her honor, her reputation, her health,
to bring back a poor wretch to the right way. I
only know that that night Gosta Berling left the
beloved Ekeby fall to follow her who for his sake
had conquered the fear of death, the fear of shame,
the fear of punishment.

Often in my thoughts I have followed them over
the ice that terrible night, which ended so well for
them. I do not think that there was anything hidden
or forbidden in their hearts, as they wandered over
the ice, gay and chatting of everything which had
happened during their separation.

He is once more her slave, her page, who lies at
her feet, and she is his lady.

They are only happy, only joyous. Neither of
them speaks a word which can denote love.

Laughing they splash through the water, they
laugh when they find the path, when they lose it,

THE PATHS OF LIFE 267

when they slip, when they fall, when they are up
again; they only laugh.

This blessed life is once more a merry play, and
they are children who have been cross and have quar-
relled. Oh, how good it is to make up and begin to
play again.

Rumor came, and rumor went. In time the story
of the countess's wanderings reached Anna Stjarnhok.

** I see," she said, " that God has not one string
only to his bow. I can rest and stay where I am
needed. He can make a man of Gosta Berling with-
out my help."

268 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

CHAPTER in

PENITENCE

Dear friends, if it should ever happen that you
meet a pitiful wretch on your way, a little distressed
creature, who lets his hat hang on his back and holds
his shoes in his hand, so as not to have any protec-
tion from the heat of the sun and the stones of the
road, one without defence, who of his own free will
calls down destruction on his head, — well, pass him
by in silent fear ! It is a penitent, do you understand?
— a penitent on his way to the holy sepulchre.

The penitent must wear a coarse cloak and live
on water and dry bread, even if he were a king. He
must walk and not ride. He must beg. He must
sleep among thistles. He must wear the hard grave-
stones with kneeling. He must swing the thorny
scourge over his back. He can know no sweetness
except in suffering, no tenderness except in grief.

The young Countess Elizabeth was once one who
wore the heavy cloak and trod the thorny paths.
Her heart accused her of sin. It longed for pain as
one wearied longs for a warm bath. Dire disaster
she brought down on herself while she descended
rejoicing into the night of suffering.

Her husband, the young count with the old-man's
head, came home to Borg the morning after the
night when the mill and smithy at Ekeby were de-

PENITENCE 369

stroyed by the spring flood. He had hardly arrived
before Countess Marta had him summoned in to her
and told him wonderful things.

" Your wife was out last night, Henrik. She was
gone many hours. She came home with a man. I
heard how he said good-night to her. I know too
who he is. I heard botli when she went and when
she came. She is deceiving you. Henrik. She is
deceiving you, the hypocritical creature, who hangs
knitted curtains in all the windows only to cause me
discomfort. She has never loved you, my poor boy.
Her father only wanted to have her well married.
She took you to be provided for."

She managed her affair so well that Count Henrik
became furious. He wished to get a divorce. He
wished to send his wife home to her father.

" No, my friend," said Countess Marta, " in that
way she would be quite given over to evil. She is
spoiled and badly brought up. But let me take
her in hand, let me lead her to the path of duty."

And the count called in his countess to tell her
that she now was to obey his mother in everything.

Many angry words the young man let the young
woman hear. He stretched his hands to heaven and
accused it of having let his name be dragged in the
dirt by a shameless woman. He shook his clenched
fist before her face and asked her what punishment
she thought great enough for such a crime as hers.

She was not at all afraid. She thought that she
had done right. She said that she had already
caught a serious cold, and that might be punish-
ment enough.

"Elizabeth," says Countess Marta, "this is not a

atter Jo joke about."

270 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

** We two," answers the young woman, " have never
been able to agree about the right time to joke and
to be serious."

" But you ought to understand, Elizabeth, that no
honorable woman leaves her home to roam about in
the middle of the night with a known adventurer."

Then Elizabeth Dohna saw that her mother-in-law
meant her ruin. She saw that she must fight to the
last gasp, lest Countess Marta should succeed in draw-
ing down upon her a terrible misfortune.

" Henrik," she begs, " do not let your mother
come between us ! Let me tell you how it all hap-
pened. You are just, you will not condemn me un-
heard. Let me tell you all, and you will see that I
only acted as you have taught me."

The count nodded a silent consent, and Countess
Elizabeth told how she had come to drive Gosta Ber-
ling into the evil way. She told of everything which
had happened in the little blue cabinet, and how she
had felt herself driven by her conscience to go and
save him she had wronged. ** I had no right to judge
him," she said, " and my husband has himself taught
me that no sacrifice is too great when one will make
amends for a wrong. Is it not so, Henrik? "

The count turned to his mother.

**What has my mother to say about this?" he
asked. His little body was now quite stiff with dig-
nity, and his high, narrow forehead lay in majestic
folds.

" I," answered the countess, — "I say that Anna
Stjarnhok is a clever girl, and she knew what she was
doing when she told Elizabeth that story."

** You are pleased to misunderstand me," said the
count. "I ask what you think of this story. Has

PENITENCE 271

Countess Marta Dohna tried to persuade her daugh-
ter, my sister, to marry a dismissed priest? "

Countess Marta was silent an instant. Alas, that
Henrik, so stupid, so stupid ! Now he was quite on
the wrong track. Her hound was pursuing the hunter
himself and letting the hare get away. But if Marta
Dohna was without an answer for an instant, it was
not longer.

** Dear friend," she said with a shrug, " there is a
reason for letting all those old stories about that un-
happy man rest, — the same reason which makes me
beg you to suppress all public scandal. It is most
probable that he has perished in the night."

She spoke in a gentle, commiserating tone, but
there was not a word of truth in what she said.

" Elizabeth has slept late to-day and therefore has
not heard that people have already been sent out
on to the lake to look for Herr Berling. He has not
returned to Ekeby, and they fear that he has droAvned.
The ice broke up this morning. See, the storm has
split it into a thousand pieces."

Countess Elizabeth looked out. The lake was al-
most open.

Then in despair she threw herself on her knees
before her husband and confession rushed from her
lips. She had wished to escape God's justice. She
had lied and dissembled. She had thrown the white
mantle of innocence over her.

'* Condemn me, turn me out ! I have loved him.
Be in no doubt but that I have loved him ! I tear
my hair, I rend my clothes with grief. I do not care
for anything when he is dead. I do not care to shield
myself. You shall know the whole truth. My
heart's love I have taken from my husband and given

272 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

to a stranger. Oh, I am one of them whom a for-
bidden love has tempted.*'

You desperate young thing, lie there at your judges'
feet and tell them all ! Welcome, martyrdom ! Wel-
come, disgrace ! Welcome ! Oh, how shall you bring
the bolt of heaven down on your young head !

Tell your husband how frightened you were when
the pain came over you, might>^ and irresistible, how
you shuddered for your heart's wretchedness. You
would rather have met the ghosts of the graveyard
than the demons in your own soul.

Tell them how you felt yourself unworthy to
tread the earth. With prayers and tears you have
struggled.

" O God, save me ! O Son of God, caster out of
devils, save me ! " you have prayed.

Tell them how you thought it best to conceal it
all. No one should know your wretchedness. You
thought that it was God's pleasure to have it so.
You thought, too, that you went in God's ways when
you wished to save the man you loved. He knew
nothing of your love. He must not be lost for your
sake. Did you know what was right? Did you know
what was wrong? God alone knew it, and he had
passed sentence upon you. He had struck down your
heart's idol. He had led you on to the great, healing
way of penitence.

Tell them that you know that salvation is not to be
found in concealment. Devils love darkness. Let
your judges' hands close on the scourge ! The pun-
ishment shall fall like soothing balm on the wounds of
sin. Your heart longs for suffering.

Tell them all that, while you kneel on the floor and
wring your hands in fierce sorrow, speaking in the

PENITENCE 273

wild accents of despair, with a shrill laugh greeting
the thought of punishment and dishonor, until at last
your husband seizes you and drags you up from the
floor.

" Conduct yourself as it behooves a Countess Dohna,
or I must ask my mother to chastise you like a child."

" Do with me what you will ! "

Then the count pronounced his sentence : —

** My mother has interceded for you. Therefore
you may stay in my house. But hereafter it is she
who commands, and you who obey."

See the way of the penitent ! The young countess
has become the most humble of servants. How long?
Oh, how long?

How long shall a proud heart be able to bend?
How long can impatient lips keep silent; how long
a passionate hand be held back?

Sweet is the misery of humiliation. When the
back aches from the heavy work the heart is at
peace. To one who sleeps a few short hours on a
hard bed of straw, sleep comes uncalled.

Let the older woman change herself into an evil
spirit to torture the younger. She thanks her bene-
factress. As yet the evil is not dead in her. Hunt
her up at four o'clock every morning ! Impose on
the inexperienced workwoman an unreasonable day*s
work at the heavy weaving-loom ! It is well. The
penitent has perhaps not strength enough to swing
the scourge with the required force.

When the time for the great spring washing comes,^
Countess Marta has her stand at the tub in the wash-
house. She comes herself to oversee her work.

«

^ In the country, in Sweden, they wash twice a year, in spring and
autumn. 18

274 THE STORY OF GiJSTA BE RUNG

" The water is too cold in your tub," she says, and
takes boiling water from a kettle and pours it over
her bare arms.

The day is cold, the washerwomen have to stand
by the lake and rinse out the clothes. Squalls rush
by and drench them with sleet. Dripping wet and
heavy as lead are the washerwomen's skirts.

Hard is the work with the wooden clapper. The
blood bursts from the delicate nails.

But Countess Elizabeth does not complain. Praised
be the goodness of God ! The scourge's thorny knots
fall softly, as if they were rose-leaves, on the penitent's
back.

The young woman soon hears that Gosta Berling
is alive. Her mother-in-law had only wanted to
cheat her into a confession. Well, what of that?
See the hand of God ! He had won over the sinner
to the path of atonement.

She grieves for only one thing. How shall it be
with her mother-in-law, whose heart God for her
sake has hardened? Ah, he will judge her mildly.
She must show anger to help the sinner to win back
God's love.

She did not know that often a soul that has tried all
other pleasures turns to delight in cruelty. In the
suffering of animals and men, weakened emotions find
a source of joy.

The older woman is not conscious of any malice.
She thinks she is only correcting a wanton wife. So
she lies awake sometimes at night and broods over
new methods of torture.

One evening she goes through the house and has
the countess light her with a candle. She carries it
in her hand without a candle-stick.

PENITENCE 275

" The candle is burned out," says the young woman.

" When there is an end to the candle, the candle-
stick must burn," answers Countess Marta.

And they go on, until the reeking wick goes out in
the scorched hand.

But that is childishness. There are tortures for
the soul which are greater than any suffering of the
body. Countess Marta invites guests and makes the
mistress of the house herself wait on them at her
own table.

That is the penitent's great day. Strangers shall
see her in her humiliation. They shall see that she
is no longer worthy to sit at her husband's table.
Oh, with what scorn their cold eyes will rest on her !

Worse, much worse it is. Not an eye meets hers*
Everybody at the table sits silent and depressed,
men and women equally out of spirits.

But she gathers it all to lay it like coals of fire on
her head. Is her sin so dreadful? Is it a disgrace
to be near her?

Then temptation comes. Anna Stjarnhok, who
has been her friend, and the judge at Munkerud,
Anna's neighbor at the table, take hold of her when
she comes, snatch the dish from her, push up a chair,
and will not let her escape.

" Sit there, child, sit there ! " says the judge.
"You have done no wrong."

And with one voice all the guests declare that if
she does not sit down at the table, they must all go.
They are no executioners. They will not do Marta
Dohna's bidding. They are not so easily deceived
as that sheep-like count.

" Oh, good gentlemen ! Oh, beloved friends ! Do
not be so charitable. You force me to cry out my

276 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

sin. There is some one whom I have loved too
dearly."

** Child, you do not know what sin is. You do
not understand how guiltless you are. Gosta Berling
did not even know that you liked him. Take your
proper place in your home! You have done no
wrong."

They keep up her courage for a while and are
themselves suddenly gay as children. Laughter and
jests ring about the board.

These impetuous, emotional people, they are so
good ; but still they are sent by the tempter. They
want to make her think that she is a martyr, and
openly scoff at Countess Marta as if she were a
witch. But they do not understand. They do not
know how the soul longs for purity, nor how the peni-
tent is driven by his own heart to expose himself to
the stones of the way and the heat of the sun.

Sometimes Countess Marta forces her to sit the
whole day long quietly in the bay window, and then
she tells her endless stories of Gosta Berling, priest
and adventurer. If her memory does not hold out,
she romances, only to contrive that his name the
whole day shall sound in the young woman's ears.
That is what she fears most. On those days she
feels that her penance will never end. Her love will
not die. She thinks that she herself will die before it.
Her strength begins to give way. She is often very ill.

" But where is your hero tarrying? " asks the
countess, spitefully. " From day to day I have ex-
pected him at the head of the pensioners. Why does
he not take Borg by storm, set you up on a throne,
and throw me and your husband, bound, into a dun-
geon cell? Are you already forgotten?**

PENITENCE

277

She is almost ready to defend him and say that she
herself had forbidden him to give her any help. But
no, it is best to be silent, to be silent and to suffer.

Day by day she is more and more consumed by
the fire of irritation. She has incessant fever and is
so weak that she can scarcely hold herself up. She
longs to die. Life's strongest forces are subdued.
Love and joy do not dare to move. She no longer
fears pain.

I&ci

1^;

It is as if her husband no longer knew that she

listed. He sits shut up in his room almost the
whole day and studies indecipherable manuscripts
and essays in old, stained print.

He reads charters of nobility on parchment, from
which the seal of Sweden hangs, large and potent,
stamped in red wax and kept in a turned wooden box.
He examines old coats of arms with lilies on a white
field and griffins on a blue. Such things he under-
stands, and such he interprets with ease. And he
reads over and over again speeches and obituary
notices of the noble counts Dohna, where their ex-
ploits are compared to those of the heroes of Israel
and the gods of Greece.

Those old things have always given him pleasure.
But he does not trouble himself to think a second
time of his young wife.

Countess Marta has said a word which killed the
in him: "She took you for your money." No
can bear to hear such a thing. It quenches all
love. Now it was quite one to him what happened
to the young woman. If his mother could bring her
to the path of duty, so much the better, Count Hen-
rik had much admiration for his mother.

2/8 THE STORY OF COSTA BERUNG

This misery went on for a month. Still it was not
such a stormy and agitated time as it may sound
when it is all compressed into a few written pages.
Countess Elizabeth was always outwardly calm. Once
only, when she heard that Gosta Berling might be
dead, emotion overcame her.

But her grief was so great that she had not been
able to preserve her love for her husband that she
would probably have let Countess Marta torture her
to death, if her old housekeeper had not spoken to
her one evening.

"You must speak to the count, countess," she
said. ** Good heavens, you are such a child ! You
do not perhaps know yourself, countess, what you
have to expect; but I see well enough what the
matter is."

But that was just what she could not say to her hus-
band, while he cherished such a black suspicion of her.

That night she dressed herself quietly, and went out.
She wore an ordinary peasant-girFs dress, and had a
bundle in her hand. She meant to run away from
her home and never come back.

She did not go to escape pain and suffering. But
now she believed that God had given her a sign that
she might go, that she must preserve her body's
health and strength.

She did not turn to the west across the lake, for
there lived one whom she loved very dearly ; nor did
she go to the north, for there many of her friends
lived ; nor towards the south, for, far, far to the south
lay her father's home, and she did not wish to come a
step nearer ; but to the east she went, for there she
knew she had no home, no beloved friend, no acquaint-
ance, no help nor comfort.

PENITENCE 279

She did not go with a light step, for she thought
that she had not yet appeased God. But still she
was glad that she hereafter might bear the burden of
her sin among strangers. Their indifferent glances
should rest on her, soothing as cold steel laid on a
swollen limb.

She meant to continue her wandering until she
found a lowly cottage at the edge of the wood, where
no one should know her. **You can see what has
happened to me, and my parents have turned me out,"
she meant to say. " Let me have food and a roof
over my head here, until I can earn my bread. I am
not without money."

So she went on in the bright June night, for the
month of May had passed during her suffering. Alas,
the month of May, that fair time when the birches
mingle their pale green with the darkness of the pine
forest, and when the south-wind comes again satiated
with warmth.

Ah, May, you dear, bright month, have you ever
seen a child who is sitting on its mother's knee lis-
tening to fairy stories ? As long as the child is told of
cruel giants and of the bitter suffering of beautiful
princesses, it holds its head up and its eyes open ;
but if the mother begins to speak of happiness and
sunshine, the little one closes its eyes and falls asleep
with its head against her breast.

And see, fair month of May, such a child am I too.
Others may listen to tales of flowers and sunshine ;
but for myself I choose the dark nights, full of visions
and adventures, bitter destinies, sorrowful sufferings
of wild hearts.

28o THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER IV

THE IRON FROM EKEBY

Spring had come, and the iron from all the mines in
Varmland was to be sent to Gothenburg.

But at Ekeby they had no iron to send. In the
autumn there had been a scarcity of water, in the
spring the pensioners had been in power.

In their time strong, bitter ale foamed down the
broad granite slope of Bjorksjo falls, and Lofven's
long lake was filled not with water, but with brandy.
In their time no iron was brought to the forge, the
smiths stood in shirt-sleeves and clogs by the hearth
and turned enormous roasts on long spits, while the
boys on long tongs held larded capons over the coals.
In those days they slept on the carpenter's bench and
played cards on the anvil. In those days no iron
was forged.

But the spring came and in the wholesale office in
Gothenburg they began to expect the iron from
Ekeby. They looked up the contract made with the
major and his wife, where there were promiises of the
delivery of many hundreds of tons.

But what did the pensioners care for the contract?
They thought of pleasure and fiddling and feasting.

Iron came from Stomne, iron from Solje. From
Uddeholm it came, and from Munkfors, and from all of
the many mines. But where is the iron from Ekeby?

THE IRON FROM EKEBY

281

E

Is Ekeby no longer the chief of Varmland's iron
works? Does no one watch over the honor of the
old estate? Like ashes for the wind it is left in the
hands of shiftless pensioners.

Well, but if the Ekeby hammers have rested, they
must have worked at our six other estates. There

I must be there enough and more than enough iron.
I So Gbsta Berling sets out to talk with the managers
wf the six mines.

He travelled ten miles or so to the north, till he
came to Lotafors. It is a pretty place, there can be
no doubt of that. The upper Lofven lies spread out
before it and close behind it lias Gurlitta cliff, with
steeply rising top and a look of wildness and romance
which well suits an old mountain. But the smithy,
that is not as it ought to be: the swing-wheel is
broken, and has been so a whole year.
Well, why has it not been mended?"
Tlie carpenter, my dear friend, the carpenter, the
ly one in the whole district who could mend it,
been busy somewhere else. We have not been
able to forge a single ton."

" Why did you not send after the carpenter?"
" Send after ! As if we had not sent after him
every day, but be has not been able to come. He
was busy building bowling-alleys and summer-houses
at Ekeby."

He goe*further to the north to Bjornidet. Also a
beautiful spot, but iron, is there any iron?

No, of course not. They had had no coal, and
they had not been able to get any money from Ekeby
to pay charcoal-burners and teamsters. There had
been no work all winter.

Then Gosta turns to the south. He comes to Hin,

282 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

and to Lofstafors, far in in the woods, but he fares
no better there. Nowhere have they iron, and every-
where it seems to be the pensioners' own fault that
such is the case.

So Gosta turns back to Ekeby, and the pensioners
with gloomy looks take into consideration the fifty
tons or so, which are in stock, and their heads are
weighed down with grief, for they hear how all nature
sneers at Ekeby, and they think that the ground
shakes with sobs, that the trees threaten them with
angry gestures, and that the grass and weeds lament
that the honor of Ekeby is gone.

But why so many words and so much perplexity?
There is the iron from Ekeby.

There it is, loaded on barges on the Klar River,
ready to sail down the stream, ready to be weighed
at Karlstad, ready to be conveyed to Gothenburg.
So it is saved, the honor of Ekeby.

But how is it possible? At Ekeby there was not
more than fifty tons of iron, at the six other mines
there was no iron at all. How is it possible that full-
loaded barges shall now carry such an enormous
amount of iron to the scales at Karlstad ? Yes, one
may well ask the pensioners.

The pensioners are themselves on board the heavy,
ugly vessels ; they mean to escort the iron from Ekeby
to Gothenburg. They are going to do everj^hing
for their dear iron and not forsake it until it is un-
loaded on the wharf in Gothenburg. They are going
to load and unload, manage sails and rudder. They
are the very ones for such an undertaking. Is there
a shoal in the Klar River or a reef in the Vaner which
they do not know?

THE IRON FROM EKEBY

283

^Hto ]

If they love anything in the world, it is the iron on

those barges. They treat it like the most delicate

glass, they spread cloths over it. Not a bit may lie

bare. It is those heavy, gray bars which are going

retrieve the honor of Ekeby. No stranger may

it indifferent glances on them.

None of the pensioners have remained at home.
Uncle Eberhard has left his desk, and Cousin Chris-
topher has come out of his corner. No one can hold
^ack when it is a question of the honor of Ekeby.
I Every one knows that often in life occur such
^coincidences as that which now followed. He who
still can be surprised may wonder that the pensioners
should be lying with their barges at the ferry over
the Klar River just on the morning after when
Countess Elizabeth had started on her wanderings
towards the east. But it would certainly have been
more wonderful if the young woman had found no
help in her need. It now happened that she, who
had walked the whole night, was coming along the
highway which led down to the ferry, just as the
pensioners intended to push off, and they stood and
looked at her while she talked to the ferryman and
he untied his boat. She was dressed like a peasant
girl, and they never guessed who she was. But still
they stood and stared at her, because there was some-
thing familiar about her. As she stood and talked to
the ferryman, a cloud of dust appeared on the high-
way, and in that cloud of dust they could catch a
glimpse of a big yellow coach. She knew that it
was from Borg, that they were out to look for her,
and that she would now be discovered. She could
no longer hope to escape in the ferryman's boat, and

le only hiding-place she saw was the pensioners'

284 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

barges. She rushed down to them without seeing
who it was on board. And well it was that she did
not see, for otherwise she would rather have thrown
herself under the horses' feet than have taken her
flight thither.

When she came on board she only screamed,
" Hide me, hide me ! " And then she tripped and fell
on the pile of iron. But the pensioners bade her be
calm. They pushed off hurriedly from the land, so that
the barge came out into the current and bore down
towards Karlstad, just as the coach reached the ferry.

In the carriage sat Count Henrik and Countess
Marta. The count ran forward to ask the ferryman
if he had seen his countess. But as Count Henrik
was a little embarrassed to have to ask about a run-
away wife, he only said : —

" Something has been lost ! "

" Really? " said the ferryman.

" Something has been lost. I ask if you have seen
anything? "

*' What are you asking about? "

"Yes, it makes no difference, but something has
been lost. I ask if you have ferried anything over
the river to-day?"

By these means he could find out nothing, and
Countess Marta had to go and speak to the man.
She knew in a minute, that she whom they sought
was on board one of the heavily gliding barges.

" Who are the people on those barges? "

" Oh, they are the pensioners, as we call them."

** Ah," says the countess. " Yes, then your wife
is in good keeping, Henrik. We might as well go
straight home."

On the barge there was no such great joy as

THE IRON FROM EKEBY

285

i

Countess Marta believed. As long as the yellow
coach was in sight, the frightened young woman
shrank together on the load motionless and silent,
staring at the shore.

Probably she first recognized the pensioners when
she had seen the yellow coach drive away. She
started up. It was as if she wanted to escape again,
but she was stopped by the one standing nearest, and
she sank back on the load with a faint moan.

The pensioners dared not speak to her nor ask her
any questions. She looked as ifon the verge of madness.

Their careless heads began verily to be heavy with
responsibility. This iron was already a heavy load for
unaccustomed shoulders, and now they had to watch
over a young, high-born lady, who had run away
from her husband.

When they had met this young woman at the balls
of the winter, one and another of them had thought
of a little sister whom he had once loved. When he
played and romped with that sister he needed to
handle her carefully, and ivhen he talked with her he
lad learned to be careful not to use bad words. If

strange boy had chased her too wildly in their play
ir had sung coarse songs for her, he had thrown
himself on him with boundless fury and almost
pounded the life out of him, for his little sister should
never hear anything bad nor suffer any pain nor ever
be met with anger and hate.

Countess Elizabeth had been like a joyous sister
to them all. When she had laid her little hands in
their hard fists, it had been as if she had said : " Feel
how fragile I am, but you are my big brother; you
shall protect me both from others and from your-

"f." And they had been courtly knights as long
they had been with her.

286 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

Now the pensioners looked upon her with terror,
and did not quite recognize her. She was worn and
thin, her neck was without roundness, her face trans-
parent She must have struck herself during her
wanderings, for from a little wound on her temple
blood was trickling, and her curly, light hair, which
shaded her brow, was sticky with it. Her dress was
soiled from her long walk on the wet paths, and her
shoes were muddy. The pensioners had a dreadful
feeling that this was a stranger. The Countess
Elizabeth they knew never had such wild, glittering
eyes. Their poor little sister had been hunted nearly
to madness. It was as if a soul come down from
other spaces was struggling with the right soul for
the mastery of her tortured body.

But there was no need for them to worry over what
they should do with her. The old thought soon
waked in her. Temptation had come to her again.
God wished to try her once more. See, she is
among friends ; does she intend to leave the path of
the penitent?

She rises and cries that she must go.

The pensioners try to calm her. They told her
that she was safe. They would protect her from all
persecution.

She only begged to be allowed to get into the little
boat, which was towed after the barge, and row to
the land, to continue her wandering.

But they could not let her go. What would
become of her? It was better to remain with them.
They were only poor old men, but they would surely
find some way to help her.

Then she wrung her hands and begged them to let
her go. But they could not grant her prayer. She

THE IRON FROM EKEBY 287

was so exhausted and weak that they thought that
she would die by the roadside.

Gosta Berling stood a short distance away and
looked down into the water. Perhaps the young
woman would not wish to see him. He did not
know it, but his thoughts played and smiled. " No-
body knows where she is," he thought ; ** we can take
her with us to Ekeby. We will keep her hidden there,
we pensioners, and we will be good to her. She shall
be our queen, our mistress, but no one shall know
that she is there. We will guard her so well, so well.
She perhaps would be happy with us ; she would be
cherished like a daughter by all the old men."

He had never dared to ask himself if he loved her.
She could not be his without sin, and he would not
drag her down to anything low and wretched, that
he knew. But to have her concealed at Ekeby and
to be good to her after others had been cruel, and to
let her. enjoy everything pleasant in life, ah, what a
dream, what a blissful dream !

But he wakened out of it, for the young countess
was in dire distress, and her words had the piercing
accents of despair. She had thrown herself upon her
knees in the midst of the pensioners and begged them
to be allowed to go.

" God has not yet pardoned me," she cried. " Let
me go ! "

Gosta saw that none of the others meant to obey
her, and understood that he must do it. He, who
loved her, must do it

He felt a difficulty in walking, as if his every limb
resisted his will, but he dragged himself to her and
said that he would take her on shore.

She rose instantly. He lifted her down into the

288 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

boat and rowed her to the east shore. He landed at
a little pathway and helped her out of the boat.

" What is to become of you, countess? '* he said.

She lifted her finger solemnly and pointed towards
heaven.

" If you are in need, countess — "

He could not speak, his voice failed him, but she
understood him and answered : —

" I will send you word when I need you."

" I would have liked to protect you from all evil/'
he said.

She gave him her hand in farewell, and he was not
able to say anything more. Her hand lay cold and
limp in his.

She was not conscious of anything but those inward
voices which forced her to go among strangers. She
hardly knew that it was the man she loved whom she
now left.

So he let her go and rowed out to the pensioners
again. When he came up on the barge he was trem-
bling with fatigue and seemed exhausted and faint. He
had done the hardest work of his life, it seemed to
him.

For the few days he kept up his courage, until the
honor of Ekeby was saved. He brought the iron to
the weighing-ofBce on Kanike point ; then for a long
time he lost all strength and love of life.

The pensioners noticed no change in him as long
as they were on board. He strained every nerve to
keep his hold on gayety and carelessness, for it was by
gayety and carelessness that the honor of Ekeby was
to be saved. How should their venture at the weigh-
ing-office succeed if they came with anxious faces
and dejected hearts?

THE IRON FROM EKEBY 289

If what rumor says is true, that the pensioners that
time had more sand than iron on their barges, if it
is true that they kept bringing up and down the same
bars to the weighing-office at Kanike point, until the
many hundred tons were weighed ; if it is true that
all that could happen because the keeper of the
public scales and his men were so well entertained
out of the hampers and wine cases brought from
Ekeby, one must know that they had to be gay on
the iron barges.

Who can know the truth now? But if it was so, it is
certain that Gosta Berling had no time to grieve. Of
the joy of adventure and danger he felt nothing. As
soon as he dared, he sank into a condition of despair.

As soon as the pensioners had got their certificate
of weighing, they loaded their iron on a bark. It
was generally the custom that the captain of the
vessel took charge of the load to Gothenburg, and
the Varmland mines had no more responsibility for
their iron when they had got their certificate that the
consignment was filled. But the pensioners would
do nothing by halves, they were going to take the
iron all the way to Gothenburg.

On the way they met with misfortune. A .storm
broke out in the night, the vessel was disabled, drove
on a reef, and sank with all her precious load. But if
one saw the matter rightly, what did it matter if the

(iron was lost .' The honor of Ekeby was saved. The
iron had been weighed at the weighing-office at Kanike
point. And even if the major had to sit down and
in a curt letter inform the merchants in the big town
that he would not have their money, as tliey had not
got his iron, that made no difference either. Ekeby
I Was so rich, and its honor was saved.

^90 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

But if the harbors and locks, if the mines and
charcoal-kilns, if the schooners and barges begin to
whisper of strange things? If a gentle murmur goes
through the forests that the journey was a fraud ? If
it is asserted through the whole of Varmland that
there were never more than fifty miserable tons on
the barges and that the shipwreck was arranged in-
tentionally? A bold exploit had been carried out,
and a real pensioner prank accomplished. By such
things the honor of the old estate is not blemished.

But it happened so long ago now. It is quite pos-
"sible that the pensioners bought the iron or that they
found it in some hitherto unknown storehouse. The
truth will never be made clear in the matter. The
keeper of the scales will never listen to any tales of
fraud, and he ought to know.

When the pensioners reached home they heard
news. Count Dohna's marriage was to be annulled.
The count had sent his steward to Italy to get proofs
that the marriage had not been legal. He had come
back late in the summer with satisfactory reports.
What these were, — well, that I do not know with cer-
tainty. One must treat old tales with care ; they are
like faded roses. They easily drop their petals if
one comes too near to them. People say that the
ceremony in Italy had not been performed by a real
priest. I do not know, but it certainly is true that
the marriage between Count Dohna and Elizabeth
von Thurn was declared at the court at Borg never
to have been any marriage.

Of this the young woman knew nothing. She
lived among peasants in some out-of-the-way place,
if she was living.

LILLIECRONA'S HOME 29 1

CHAPTER V
lilliecrona's home

Among the pensioners was one whom I have often
mentioned as a great musician. He was a tall,
heavily built man, with a big head and bushy, black-
hair. He was certainly not more than forty years old
at that time, biit he had an ugly, large-featured face
and a pompous manner. This made many think
him old. He was a good man, but low-spirited.

One afternoon he took his violin under his arm
and went away from Ekeby. He ^aid no farewell
to any one, although he never meant to return. He
loathed the life there ever since he had seen Coun-
tess Elizabeth in her trouble. He walked without
resting the whole evening and the whole night, until
at early sunrise he came to a little farm, called
Lofdala, which belonged to him.

It was so early that nobody was as yet awake.
Lilliecrona sat down on the green bench outside the
main building and looked at his estate. A more
beautiful place did not exist The lawn in front of
the house lay in a gentle slope and was covered with
fine, light-green grass. There never was such a lawn.
The sheep were allowed to graze there and the
children to romp there in their games, but it was
always just as even and green. The scythe never
passed over it, but at least once a week the mistress

292 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

of the house had all sticks and straws and dry leaves
swept from the fresh grass. He looked at the gravel
walk in front of the house and suddenly drew his feet
back. The children had late in the evening raked
it, and his big feet had done terrible harm to the fine
work. Think how everything grew there. The six
mountain-ashes which guarded the place were high
as beeches and wide-spreading as oaks. Such trees
had never been seen before. They were beauti-
ful with their thick trunks covered with yellow
lichens, and with big, white flower-clusters sticking
out from the dark foliage. It made him think of
the sky and its stars. It was indeed wonderful how
the trees grew there. There stood an old willow, so
thick that the arms of two men could not meet about
it. It was now rotten and hollow, and the lightning
had taken the top off it, but it would not die. Every
spring a cluster of green shoots came up out of the
shattered trunk to show that it was alive. That haw-
thorn by the east gable had become such a big tree
that it overshadowed the whole house. The roof
was white with its dropping petals, for the hawthorn
had already blossomed. And the birches which
stood in small clumps here and there in the pastures,
they certainly had found their paradise on his farm.
They developed there in so many different growths,
as if they had meant to imitate all other trees. One
was like a linden, thick and leafy with a wide-spread-
ing arch, another stood close and tall like a poplar,
and a third drooped its branches like a weeping-
willow. No one was like another, and they were all
beautiful.

Then he rose and went round the house. There
lay the garden, so wonderfully beautiful that he had

¥

LILLIECRONA'S HOME 293

slop and draw a long breath. The apple-trees
: in bloom. Yes, of course he knew that He
seen it on all the other farms; but in no other
'lace did they bloom as they did in that garden,
■here he had seen them blossom since he was a
He walked with clasped hands and careful
step up and down the gravel path. The ground
was white, and the trees were white, here and there
with a touch of pink. He had never seen anything
beautiful. He knew every tree, as one knows
's brothers and sisters and playmates. The astra-
ihan trees were quite white, also the winter fruit-
trees. But the russet blossoms were pink, and the
crab-apple almost red. The most beautiful was the
old wild apple-tree, whose little, bitter apples nobody
could eat. It was not stingy with its blossoms; it
looked like a great snow-drift in the morning light.

For remember that it was early in the morning !
The dew made every leaf shine, all dust was washed
tpway. Behind the forest-clad hills, close under
Which the farm lay, came the first rays of the sun.
It was as if the tops of the pines had been set on
fire by them. Over the clover meadows, over rye
and corn fields, and over the sprouting oat-shoots, lay
the lightest of mists, like a thin veil, and the shadows
fell sharp as in moonlight.

He stood and looked at the big vegetable beds
between the paths. He knows that mistress and
maids have been at work here. They have dug,
raked, pulled up weeds and turned the earth, until it
has become fine and light. After they have made
the beds even and the edges straight they have taken
tapes and pegs and marked out rows and squares.
they have sowed and set out, until all the rows

294 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

and squares have been filled. And the children have
been with them and have been so happy and eager
to be allowed to help, although it has been hard
work for them to stand bent and stretch their arms
out over the broad beds. And of great assistance
have they been, as any one can understand.

Now what they had sown began to come up.

God bless them ! they stood there so bravely, both
peas and beans with their two thick cotyledons ; and
how thick and nice had both carrots and beets come
up ! The funniest of all were the little crinkled parsley
leaves, which lifted a little earth above them and
played bopeep with life as yet

And here was a little bed where the lines did not
go so evenly and where the small squares seemed to
be an experiment map of everything which could be
set or sowed. That was the children's garden.

And Lilliecrona put his violin hastily up to his
chin and began to play. The birds began to sing in
the big shrubbery which protected the garden from
the north wind. It was not possible for anything
gifted with voice to be silent, so glorious was the
morning. The fiddle-bow moved quite of itself.

Lilliecrona walked up and down the paths and
played. " No/' he thought, " there is no more beauti-
ful place." What was Ekeby compared to Lofdala.
His home had a thatched roof and was only one story
high. It lay at the edge of the wood, with the moun-
tain above it and the long valley below it. There
was nothing wonderful about it ; there was no lake
there, no water-fall, no park, but it was beautiful just
the same. It was beautiful because it was a good,
peaceful home. Life was easy to live there. Every-
thing which in other places caused bitterness and

LILUECRONA'S HOME 295

hate was there smoothed away with gentleness. So
shall it be in a home.

Within, in the house, the mistress lies and sleeps in
a room which opens on the garden. She wakes sud-
denly and listens, but she does not move. She lies
smiling and listening. Then the musician comes
nearer and nearer, and at last it sounds as if he had
stopped under her window. It is indeed not the first
time she has heard the violin under her window. He
was in the habit of coming so, her husband, when they
had done something unusually wild there at Ekeby.

He stands there and confesses and begs for forgive-
ness. He describes to her the dark powers which
tempt him away from what he loves best, — from her
and the children. But he loves them. Oh, of course
he loves them !

While he plays she gets up and puts on her clothes
without quite knowing what she is doing. She is so
taken up with his playing.

" It is not luxury and good cheer, which tempt me
away," he plays " not love for other women, nor
glory, but life's seductive changes : its sweetness, its
bitterness, its riches, I must feel about me. But now
I have had enough of it, now I am tired and satisfied.
I shall never again leave my home. Forgive me ; have
mercy upon me ! "

Then she draws aside the curtain and opens the
window, and he sees her beautiful, kind face.

She is good, and she is wise. Her glances bring
blessings like the sun's on everything they meet.
She directs and tends. Where she is, everything
grows and flourishes. She bears happiness within her.

He swings himself up on to the window-sill to her,
and is happy as a young lover.

296 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Then he lifts her out into the garden and carries
her down under the apple-trees. There he explains
for her how beautiful everything is, and shows her the
vegetable beds and the children's garden and the
funny little parsley leaves.

When the children awake, there is joy and rapture
that father has come. They take possession of him.
He must see all that is new and wonderful : the little
nail-manufactory which pounds away in the brook, the
bird's-nest in the willow, and the little minnows in the
pond, which swim in thousands near the surface of
the water.

Then father, mother, and children take a long walk
in the fields. He wanta to see how close the rye
stands, how the clover is growing, and how the pota-
toes are beginning to poke up their crumpled leaves.

He must see the cows when they come in from the
pasture, visit the new-comers in the barn and sheep-
house, look for eggs, and give all the horses sugar.

The children hang at his heels the whole day. No
lessons, no work ; only to wander about with their
father !

In the evening he plays polkas for them, and all
day he has been such a good comrade and playfellow
that they fall asleep with a pious prayer that father
may always stay with them.

He stays eight long days, and is joyous as a boy
the whole time. He could stand it no longer, it was
too much happiness for him. Ekeby was a thousand
times worse, but Ekeby lay in the midst of the whirl
of events. Oh, how much there was there to dream
of and to play of! How could he live separated from
the pensioners* deeds, and from Lofven's long lake,
about which adventure's wild chase rushed onward?

LILLIECRONA'S HOME 297

On his own estate everything went on in its calm,
wonted way. Everything flourished and grew under
the gentle mistress's care. Every one was happy there.
Everything which anywhere else could have caused
discord and bitterness passed over there without
complaints or pain. Everything was as it should be.
If now the master of the house longed to live as pen-
sioner at Ekeby, what then? Does it help to com-
plain of heaven's sun because it disappears every
evening in the west, and leaves the earth in darkness?

What is so unconquerable as submission? What
is so certain of victory as patience?

298 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER VI

THE WITCH OF DOVRE

The witch of Dovre walks on Lofven's shores.
People have seen her there, little and bent, in a
leather skirt and a belt of silver plates. Why has she
come out of the wolf-holes to a human world? What
does the old creature of the mountains want in the
green of the valley?

She comes begging. She is mean, greedy for gifts,
although she is so rich. In the clefts of the mountain
she hides heavy bars of white silver ; and in the rich
meadows far away on the heights feed her great
flocks of black cattle with golden horns. Still
she wanders about in birch-bark shoes and greasy
leather skirt soiled with the dirt of a hundred years.
She smokes moss in her pipe and begs of the poorest.
Shame on one who is never grateful, never gets
enough !

She is old. When did the rosy glory of youth dwell
in that broad face with its brown greasy skin, in the
flat nose and the small eyes, which gleam in the
surrounding dirt like coals of fire in gray ashes?
When did she sit as a young girl on the mountain-
side and answer with her horn the shepherd-boy's
love-songs? She has lived several hundred years.
The oldest do not remember the time when she did

THE WITCH OF DOVRE 299

not wander through the land. Their fathers had
seen her old when they were young. Nor is she yet
dead. I who write, myself have seen her.

She is powerful. She does not bend for any one.
She can summon the hail, she can guide the light-
ning. She can lead the herds astray and set wolves
on the sheep. Little good can §he do, but much
evil. It is best to be on good terms with her! If
she should beg for your only goat and a whole pound
of wool, give it to her ; if you don't the horse will fall,
or the cottage will burn, or the cow will sicken, or the
child will die.

A welcome guest she never is. But it is best to
meet her with smiling.. lips! Who knows for whose
sake the bearer of disaster is roaming through the
valley ? She does not come only to fill her beggar's-
pouch. Evil omens go with her; the army worm
shows itself, foxes and owls howl and hoot in
the twilight, red and black serpents, which spit
venom, crawl out of the wood up to the very
threshold.

Charms can she chant, philters can she brew. She
knows all herbs. Everybody trembles with fear
when they see her; but the strong daughter of the
wilderness goes calmly on her way among them,
protected by their dread. The exploits of her race
are not ' forgotten, nor are her own. As the cat
trusts in its claws, so does she trust in her wisdom
and in the strength of her divinely inspired prophe-
cies. No king is more sure of his might than she of
the kingdom of fear in which she rules.

The witch of Dovre has wandered through many
villages. Now she has come to Borg, and does not
fear to wander up to the castle. She seldom goes to

300 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

the kitchen door. Right up the terrace steps she
comes. She plants her broad birch-bark shoes on the
flower-bordered gravel-walks as calmly as if she were
tramping up mountain paths.

Countess Marta has just come out on the steps to
admire the beauty of the June day. Below her two
maids have stopped on their way to the store-house.
They have come from the smoke-house, where the
bacon is being smoked, and are carrying newly cured
hams on a pole between them. " Will our gracious
Countess feel and smell ? " say the maids. " Arc the
hams smoked enough? **

Countess Marta, mistress at Borg at that time, leans
over the railing and looks at the hams, but in the
same instant the old Finn woman lays her hand on
one of them.

The daughter of the mountains is not accustomed
to beg and pray ! Is it not by her grace that flowers
thrive and people live } Frost and storm and .floods
are all in her power to send. Therefore she does
not need to pray and beg. She lays her hand on
what she wants, and it is hers.

Countess Marta, however, knows nothing of the old
woman's power.

** Away with you, beggar-woman ! " she says.

" Give me the ham," says the witch.

" She is mad," cries the countess. And she orders
the maids to go to the store-house with their burden.

The eyes of the old woman flame with rage and
greed.

'* Give me the brown ham," shfe repeats, " or it will
go ill with you."

** I would rather give it to the magpies than to
such as you."

*

THE WITCH OF DOVRE 301

Then the old woman is shaken by a storm of rage.
She stretches towards heaven her runic-staff and
waves it wildly. Her lips utter strange words. Her
hair stands on end, her eyes shine, her face is
distorted,

" You shall be eaten by magpies yourself," she
screams at last.

Then she goes, mumbling curses, brandishing her
stick. She turns towards home. Farther towards
the south does she not go. She has accomplished her
errand, for which she had travelled down from the
mountains.

Countess Marta remains standing on the steps and
laughs at her extravagant anger ; but on her lips the
laugh will soon die away, for there they come. She
cannot believe her eyes. She thinks that she is
dreaming, but there they come, the magpies who are
going to eat her.

From the park and the garden they swoop down
on her, magpies by scores, with claws ready to seize
and bills stretched out to strike. They come with
wild screams. Black and white wings gleam before
her eyes. She sees as in delirium behind this
swarm the magpies of the whole neighborhood
approaching; the whole heaven is full of black and
Iwhite wings. In the bright morning sun the metallic
colors of the feathers glisten. In smaller and
smaller circles the monsters fly about the countess,
aiming with beaks and claws at her face and hands.
She has to escape into the hall and shut the door.
She leans against it, panting with terror, while the
screaming magpies circle about outside.

From that time on she is shut in from the sweet-
ness and green of the summer and from tht: joy of

302 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

life. For her were only closed rooms and drawn
curtains \ for her, despair ; for her, terror ; for her,
confusion, bordering on madness.

Mad this story too may seem, but it must also be
true. Hundreds will recognize it and bear witness
that such is the old tale.

The birds settled down on the railing and the roof.
They sat as if they only waited till the countess
should show herself, to throw themselves upon her.
They took up their abode in the park and there they
remained. It was impossible to drive them away.
It was only worse if they shot them. For one that
fell, ten came flying. Sometimes great flocks flew
away to get food, but faithful sentries always re-
mained behind. And if Countess Marta showed her-
self, if she looked out of a window or only drew aside
the curtain for an instant, if she tried to go out on
the steps, — they came directly. The whole terrible
swarm whirled up to the house on thundering wings,
and the countess fled into her inner room.

She lived in the bedroom beyond the red drawing-
room. I have often heard the room described, as it
was during that time of terror, when Borg was be-
sieged by magpies. Heavy quilts before the doors
and windows, thick carpets on the floor, softly tread-
ing, whispering people.

In the countess's heart dwelt wild terror. Her hair
turned gray. Her face became wrinkled. She grew
old in a month. She could not steel her heart to
doubt of hateful magic. She started up from her
dreams with wild cries that the magpies were eating
her. She wept for days over this fate, which she
could not escape. Shunning people, afraid that the
swarm of birds should follow on the heels of any one

THE WITCH OF DOVRE 303

coming in, she sat mostly silent with her hands before
her face, rocking backwards and forwards in her chair,
low-spirited and depressed in the close air, sometimes
starting up with cries of lamentation.

No one's life could be more bitter. Can any one
help pitying her?

I have not much more to tell of her now, and what
I have said has not been good. It is as if my con-
science smote me. She was good-hearted and cheer-
ful when she was young, and many merry stories
about her have gladdened my heart, although there
has been no space to tell them here.

But it is so, although that poor wayfarer did not
know it, that the soul is ever hungry. On frivolity
and play it cannot live. If it gets no other food, it
will like a wild beast first tear others to pieces and
then itself.

That is the meaning of the story.

THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

CHAPTER VII

MIDSUMMER

Midsummer was hot then as now when I am writing.
It was the most beautiful season of the year. It
was the season when Sintram, the wicked ironmaster
at Fors, fretted and grieved. He resented the sun's
triomphal march through the hours of the day, and
the overthrow of darkness. He raged at the leafy
dress which clothed the trees, and at the many-colored
carpet which covered the ground.

Everything arrayed itself in beauty. The road,
gray and dusty as it was, had its border of flowers :
yellow and purple midsummer blossoms, wild parsley,
and asters.

When the glory of midsummer lay on the moun-
tains and the sound of the bells from the church at
Bro was borne on the quivering air even as far as
Fors, when the unspeakable stillness of the Sabbath
day reigned in the land, then he rose in wrath. It
seemed to him as if God and men dared to forget
that he existed, and he decided to go to church, he
too. Those who rejoiced at the summer should see
him, Sintram, lover of darkness without morning, of
death without resurrection, of winter without spring.

He put on his wolfskin coat and shaggy fur gloves.
He had the red horse harnessed in a sledge, and fas-
tened bells to the shining horse-collar. Equipped
as if it were thirty degrees below zero, he drove to

MIDSUMMER 3^5

church. He believed that the grinding under the
runners was from the severe cold. He believed that
the white foam on the horse's back was hoarfrost.
He felt no heat. Cold streamed from him as warmth
from the sun.

He drove over the wide plain north of the Bro
church. Large, rich villages lay near his way, and
fields of grain, over which singing larks fluttered.
Never have I heard larks sing as in those fields.
Often have I wondered how he could shut his ears to
those hundreds of songsters.

He had to drive by many things on the way which
would have enraged him if he had given them a
glance. He would have seen two bending birches at
the door of every house, and through open windows
he would have looked into rooms whose ceilings and
walls were covered with flowers and green branches.
The smallest beggar child went on the road with a
bunch of lilacs in her hand, and every peasant woman
had a little nosegay stuck in her neckerchief.

Maypoles with faded flowers and drooping wreaths
stood in every yard. Round about them the grass
was trodden down, for the merry dance had whirled
there through the summer night.

Below on the Lofven crowded the floats of timber.
The little white sails were hoisted in honor of the
day, although no wind filled them, and every mast-
head bore a green wreath.

On the many roads which lead to Bro the congre-
gation came walking. The women were especially
magnificent in the light summer-dresses, which had
been made ready just for that day. All were
dressed in their best

And the people could not help rejoicing at the

20

306 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

peace of the day and the rest from daily work, at the
delicious warmth, the promising harvest, and the wild
strawberries which were beginning to redden at the
edge of the road. They noticed the stillness of the
air and the song of the larks, and said : '' It is plain
that this is the Lord's day."

Then Sintram drove up. He swore and swung his
whip over the straining horse. The sand grated
horribly under the runners, the sleigh-bells* shrill
clang drowned the sound of the church bells. His
brow lay in angry wrinkles under his fur cap.

The church-goers shuddered and thought they had
seen the evil one himself. Not even to-day on the
summer's festival might they forget evil and cold.
Bitter is the lot of those who wander upon earth.

The people who stood in the shadow of the church
or sat on the churchyard wall and waited for the
beginning of the service, saw him with calm wonder
when he came up to the church door. The glorious
day had filled their hearts with joy that they were
walking the paths of earth and enjoying the sweet-
ness of existence. Now, when they saw Sintram,
forebodings of strange disaster came over them.

Sintram entered the church and sat down in his
seat, throwing his gloves on the bench, so that the
rattle of the wolves' claws which were sewed into the
skin was heard through the church. And several
women who had already taken their places on the
front benches fainted when they saw the shaggy form,
and had to be carried out.

But no one dared to drive out Sintram. He dis-
turbed the people's devotions, but he was too much
feared for any one to venture to order him to leave
the church.

MIDSUMMER SO?

In vain the old clergyman spoke of the summer's
bright festival Nobody listened to him. The peo-
ple only thought of evil and cold and of the strange
disaster which the wicked ironmaster announced to
them.

When it was over, they saw him walk out on to the
slope of the hill where the Bro church stands. He
looked down on the Broby Sound and followed it
with his eyes past the deanery and the three points
of the west shore out into the Lofven. And they
saw how he clenched his fist and shook it over the
sound and its green banks. Then his glance turned
further south over the lower Lofven to the misty
shores which seemed to shut in the lake, and north-
ward it flew miles beyond Gurlitta Cliff up to Bjornidet,
where the lake began. He looked to the west and
east, where the long mountains border the valley, and
he clenched his fist again. And every one felt that
if he had held a bundle of thunderbolts in his right
hand, he would have hurled them in wild joy out
over the peaceful country and spread sorrow and
death as far as he could. For now he had so accus-
tomed his heart to evil that he knew no pleasure
except in suffering. By degrees he had taught him-
self to love everything ugly and wretched. He was
more insane than the most violent madman, but that
no one understood.

Strange stories went about the land after that day.
It was said that when the sexton came to shut up the
church, the bit of the key broke, because a tightly
folded paper had been stuck in the keyhole. He
gave it to the dean. It was, as was to be expected, a
letter meant for a being in the other world.

People whispered of what had stood there. The

308 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

dean had burnt the paper, but the sexton had looked
on while the devil's trash burned. The letters had
shone bright red on a black ground. He could not
help reading. He read, people said, that Sintram
wished to lay the country waste as far as the Bro
church tower was visible. He wished to see the
forest grow up about the church. He wished to see
bear and fox living in men's dwellings. The fields
should lie uncultivated) and neither dog nor cock
should be heard in the neighborhood. He wished
to serve his master by causing every man's ruin.
That was what he promised.

And the people looked to the future in silent
despair, for they knew that his power was great, that
he hated everything living, that he wished to see
the wilderness spread through the valley, and that
he would gladly take pestilence or famine or war
into his service to drive away every one who loved
good, joy-bringing work.

MADAME MUSICA 309

CHAPTER VIII

MADAME MUSICA

When nothing could make Gosta Berling glad, after
he had helped the young countess to escape, the
pensioners decided to seek help of the good Madame
Musica, who is a powerful fairy and consoles many
who are unhappy.

So one evening in July they had the doors of the
big drawing-room at Ekeby opened and the shutters
taken down. The sun and air were let in, the late
evening's big, red sun, the cool, mild, steaming air.

The striped covers were taken off the furniture, the
piano was opened, and the net about the Venetian
chandelier taken away. The golden griffins under
the white-marble table-tops again reflected the light.
The white goddesses danced above the mirror. The
variegated flowers on the silk damask glistened in the
evening glow. Roses were picked and brought in.
The whole room was filled with their fragrance. There
were wonderful roses with unknown names, which had
been brought to Ekeby from foreign lands. There
were yellow ones in whose veins the blood shone red
as in a human being's, and cream-white roses with
curled edges, and pink roses with broad petals, which
on their outside edge were as colorless as water, and
dark red with black shadows. They carried in all
Altringer's roses which had come from far distant
lands to rejoice the eyes of lovely women,

3IO THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

The music and music-stands were brought in, and
the brass instruments and bows and violins of all sizes ;
for good Madame Musica shall now reign at £kd)y
and try to console Gosta Berling.

Madame Musica has chosen the Oxford Symphony
of Hayden, and has had the pensioners practise it
Julius conducts, and each of the others attends to his
own instrument. All the pensioners can play — they
would not otherwise be pensioners.

When everything is ready Gosta is sent for. He
is still weak and low-spirited, but he rejoices in the
beautiful room and in the music he soon shall hear.
For every one knows that for him who suffers and
is in pain good Madame Musica is the best company.
She is gay and playful like a child. She is fiery and
captivating like a young woman. She is good and
wise like the old who have lived a good life.

And then the pensioners began to play, so gently,
so murmuringly soft.

It goes well, it goes brilliantly well From the dead
notes they charm Madame Musica herself. Spread
out your magic cloak, dear Madame Musica, and take
Gosta Berling to the land of gladness, where he used
to live.

Alas that it is Gosta Berling who sits there pale
and depressed, and whom the old men must amuse as
if he were a child. There will be no more joy now in
Varmland.

I know why the old people loved him. I know
how long a winter evening can be, and how gloom can
creep over the spirit in those lonely farm-houses. I
understand how it felt when he came.

Ah, fancy a Sunday afternoon, when work is laid
aside and the thoughts are dull ! Fancy an obstinate

MADAME MUSIC A 311

"north wind, whipping cold into the room, — a cold
which no fire can relieve ! Fancy the single tallow-
candle, which has to be continually snuffed ! Fancy
the monotonous sound of psalms from the kitchen!

Well, and then bells come ringing, eager feet stamp
off the snow in the hall, and Gbsta Berling comes
into the room. He laughs and jokes. He is life, he
is warmth. He opens the piano, and he plays so that
they are surprised at the old strings. He can sing
all songs, play any tune. He makes all the inmates
of the house happy. He was never cold, he was
never tired. The mourner forgot his sorrows when
he saw him. Ah, what a good heart he had! How
compassionate he was to the weak and poor ! And
what a genius he was ! Yes, you ought to have heard
the old people talk of him.

But now, just as they were playing, he burst into
tears. He thinks Hfe is so sad. He rests his head in
his hands and weeps. The pensioners are dismayed.
These are not mild, heaUng tears, such as Madame
Musica generally calls forth. He is sobbing like one
in despair. At their wits' end they put their instru-
ments away.

And the good Madame Musica, who loves Gosta
Berling, she too almost loses courage; but then she
remembers that she has still a mighty champion
among the pensioners.

It is the gentle Ldwenborg, he who had lost his
fiancee in the muddy river, and who is more Gbsta
Berling's slave than any of the others. He steals
away to the piano.

In the pensioners' wing Ldwenborg has a great
wooden table, on which he has painted a keyboard
ind set up a music-stand. There he can sit for hours

312 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

at a time and let his fingers fly over the black and
white keys. There he practises both scales and
studies, and there he plays his Beethoven. He never
plays anything but Beethoven.

But the old man never ventures on any other in-
strument than the wooden table. For the piano he
has a respectful awe. It tempts him, but it frightens
him even more. The clashing instrument, on which
so many polkas have been drummed, is a sacred thing
to him. He has never dared to touch it. Think of
that wonderful thing with its many strings, which
could give life to the great master's works ! He only
needs to put his ear to it, to hear andantes and
scherzos murmuring there. But he has never played
on such a thing. He will never be rich enough to buy
one of his own, and on this he has never dared to
play. The major's wife was not so willing either to
open it for him.

He has heard how polkas and waltzes have been
played on it. But in such profane music the noble
instrument could only clash and complain. No, if
Beethoven should come, then it would let its true,
clear sound be heard.

Now he thinks that the moment is come for him
and Beethoven. He will take courage and touch the
holy thing, and let his young lord and master be glad-
dened by the sleeping harmonies.

He sits down and begins to play. He is uncertain
and nervous, but he gropes through a couple of bars,
tries to bring out the right ring, frowns, tries again,
and puts his hands before his face and begins to weep.

Yes, it is a bitter thing. The sacred thing is not
sacred. There are no clear, pure tones hidden and
breaming in it; tb^re are no mighty tbu»der$, no

MADAME MUSICA 313

rushing hurricanes. None of the endless harmonies
direct from heaven had remained there. It is an old,
worn-out piano, and nothing more.

But then Madame Musica gives the colonel a hint.
He takes Ruster with him and they go to the pen-
sioners' wing and get Lowenborg's table, where the
keys are painted,

" See here, Lowenborg," says Beerencreutz, when
they come back, " here is your piano. Play for Gosta I "

Then Lowenborg stops crying and sits down to
play Beethoven for his sorrowful young friend. Now
he would certainly be glad again.

Iln the old man's head sound the most heavenly
►nes. He cannot think but that Gosta hears how
CautifuIIy he is playing. He meets with no more
ifficulties. He plays his runs and trills with the
greatest ease. He would have liked that the master
himself could have heard him.

The longer he plays, the more he is carried away.
He hears every note with unearthly clearness. He
sits there glowing with enthusiasm and emotion,
hearing the most wonderful tones, certain that Gosta
must hear them too and be comforted.

Gosta sat and looked at him. At first he was
angry at this foolery, but gradually he became of
milder mood- He was irresistible, the old man, as he
sat and enjoyed his Beethoven.

And Gosta began to think how this man too, who
now was so gentle and so careless, had been sunk in
suffering, how he too had lost her whom he loved.
jjd now he sat beamingly happy at his wooden table.
>thing more was needed to add to his bliss.
He felt humbled. "What, Gosta," he said to him-
', " can you no longer bear and suffer ? You who

314 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

have been hardened by poverty all your life, you who
have heard every tree in the forest, every tuft in the
meadow preach of resignation and patience, you who
have been brought up in a land where the winter is
severe and the .summer short, — have you forgotten
how to endure?"

Ah Gosta, a man must bear all that life offers with
a brave heart and smiling lip, or he is no man. Re-
gret as much as you like if you have lost what you
hold dearest, let remorse tear at your vitals, but show
yourself a man. Let your glance shine with gladness,
and meet your friends with cheerful words !

Life is hard, nature is hard. But they both give
courage and cheerfulness as compensations for their
hardness, or no one could hold out.

Courage and cheerfulness ! It is as if they were
the first duties of life. You have never failed in them
before, and shall not now.

Are you worse than Lowenborg, who sits there at
his wooden piano, than all the other pensioners? You
know well enough that none of them have escaped
suffering !

And then Gosta looks at them. Oh, such a per-
formance ! They all are sitting there so seriously and
listening to this music which nobody hears.

Suddenly Lowenborg is waked from his dreams by
a merry laugh. He lifts his hands from the keys and
listens as if in rapture. It is Gosta Berling's old
laugh, his good, kind, infectious laugh. It is the
sweetest music the old man has heard in all his life.

" Did I not say that Beethoven would help you,
Gosta," he cries. " Now you are yourself again."

So did the good Madame Musica cure Grosta Ber-
ing's hypochondria,

THE BROBY CLERGYMAN 315

CHAPTER IX

THE BROBY CLERGYMAN

Eros, all-powerful god, you know well that it often
seems as if a man should have freed himself from
your might All the tender feelings which unite
mankind seem dead in his heart. Madness stretches
its claws after the unhappy one, but then you come
in all your power, and like the great saint's staff the
dried-up heart bursts into bloom.

No one is so mean as the Broby clergyman, no one
more divided by malice and uncharitableness from his
fellow-men. His rooms are unheated in the winter,
he sits on an unpainted wooden seat, he dresses in
rags, lives on dry bread, and is furious if a beggar
enters his door. He lets the horse starve in the stable
and sells the hay, his cows nibble the dry grass at the
roadside and the moss on the wall. The bleating
of the hungry sheep can be heard far along the
highway. The peasants throw him presents of food
which their dogs will not eat, of clothes which their
poor disdain. His hand is stretched out to beg, his
back bent to thank. He begs of the rich, lends to the
poor. If he sees a piece of money his heart aches
with longing till he gets it into his pocket. Unhappy
is he who has not his affairs in order on the day of
payment !

He was married late in life, but it had been better
if he had never been. Exhausted and overworked, his
wife died. His daughter serves with strangers. He

3l6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

is old, but age grants him no relief in his struggling.
The madness of avarice never leaves him.

But one fine day in the beginning of August a heavy
coach, drawn by four horses, drives up Broby hill.
A delicate old lady comes driving in great state, with
coachman and footman and lady's-maid. She comes
to meet the Broby clergyman. She had loved him in
the days of her youth.

He had been tutor at her father's house, and they
had loved one another, although her proud family
had separated them. And now she is journeying
up Broby hill to see him before she dies. All that
is left to her in life is to see once again the beloved
of her y6uth.

She sits in the great carriage and dreams. She is
not driving up Broby hill to a poor little pastorage.
She is on her way to the cool leafy arbor down in the
park, where her lover is waiting. She sees him ; he is
young, he can kiss, he can love. Now, when she knows
that she soon shall meet him his image rises before
her with singular clearness. He is so handsome, so
handsome ! He can adore, he can burn, he fills her
whole being with rapture.

Now she is sallow, withered, and old. Perhaps he
will not recognize her with her sixty years, but she
has not come to be seen, but to see, to see the beloved
of her youth, who has gone through life untouched
by time, who is ever young, beautiful, glowing.

She has come from so far away that she has not
heard a word of the Broby clergyman.

The coach clatters up the hill, and at the summit
the pastorage is visible.

" For the love of God," whines a beggar at the
wayside, " a copper for a poor man ! "

THE BROBY CLERGYMAN 317

The noble lady gives him a piece of silver and
asks where the Broby pastorage is.

" The pastorage is in front of you/' he says, ** but
the clergyman is not at home, there is no one at
the pastorage."

The little lady seems to fade away. The cool
arbor vanishes, her lover is not there. How could
she expect, after forty years, to find him there?

What had the gracious lady to do at the vicarage?

She had come to meet the minister. She had
known him in the old days.

Forty years and four hundred miles have separated
them. And for each ten miles she has come nearer
she has left behind her a year with its burden of
sorrows and memories, so that when she now comes
to the vicarage she is a girl of twenty again, without
a care or a regret.

The beggar stands and looks at her, sees her
change under his eyes from twenty to sixty, and from
sixty back again to twenty.

" The minister is coming home this afternoon," he
says. The gracious lady would do best to drive down
to the Broby inn and come again later. In the after-
noon, the beggar can answer for it, the minister will
be at home.

A moment after, the heavy coach with the little
faded lady rolls down the hill to the inn, but the
beggar stands trembling and looks after her. He
feels that he ought to fall on his knees and kiss the
wheel tracks.

Elegant, newly shaven, and washed, in shoes with
shining buckles, with silk stockings, with ruffles and
frills, the Broby clergyman stands at noon that same
day before the dean's wife at Bro.

3l8 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

" A fine lady/' he says, " a count's daughter. Do
you think that I, poor man, can ask her to come into
my house? My floors are black, my drawing-room
without furniture, the dining-room ceiling is green
with mildew and damp. Help me ! Remember that
she is a noble count's daughter ! "

" Say that you have gone away ! "

" My dear lady, she has come four hundred miles
to see me, poor man. She does not know how it is.
I have not a bed to offer her. I have not a bed for
her servants ! "

" Well, let her go again."

" Dear heart ! Do you not understand what I
mean? I would rather give everything I possess,
everything that I have gathered together by industry
and striving, than that she should go without my having
received her under my roof. She was twenty when
I saw her last, and it is now forty years ago ! Help
me, that I may see her in my house! Here is
money, if money can help, but here more than money
is needed."

Oh, Eros, women love you. They would rather
go a hundred steps for you than one for other gods.

In the deanery at Bro the rooms are emptied, the
kitchen is emptied, the larder is emptied. Wagons
are piled up and driven to the vicarage. When the
dean comes home from the communion service, he
will find empty rooms, look in through the kitchen
door to ask after his dinner and find no one there.
No dinner, no wife, no maids! What was to be
done?

Eros has so wished it.

A little later in the afternoon the heavy coach
comes clattering up Broby hill. And the little lady

THE BROBY CLERGYMAN 319

^its and wonders if any new mischance shall happen,
if it is really true that she is now going to meet her
life's only Joy.

Then the coach swings into the vicarage, there
comes some one, there he comes. He lifts her out of
the carriage, he takes her on his arm, strong as ever,
she is clasped in an embrace as warm as of old, forty
years ago. She looks into his eyes; which glow as
they did when they had only seen five and twenty

A storm of emotion comes over her — warmer
than ever. She remembers that he once carried her
up the steps to the terrace. She, who believed that
her love had lived all these years, had forgotten what
it was to be clasped in strong arms, to look into

ung, glowing eyes.

She does not see that he is old. She only sees
eyes.

She does not see the black floors, the mildewed
ceihngs, she only sees his glowing eyes. The Broby
clergyman is a stately man. a handsome man in that
hour. He grows handsome when he looks at her.

She hears his voice, his clear, strong voice ; caress-
ingly it sounds. He only speaks so to her. Why
did he need furniture from the deanery for his empty
rooms; why food, why servants? The old lady would
never have missed anything. She hears his voice
and sees his eyes.

Never, never before has she been so happy.

She knows that he has been married, but she does
not remember it. How could she remember such a
thing? She is twenty, he twenty-five. Shall he be-
come the mean Broby clergyman, that smiling youth?
The wailing of the poor, the curses of the defrauded,

320 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

the scornful gibes, the caricatures, the sneers, all that
as yet does not exist for him. His heart burns only
with a pure and innocent love. Never shall that
proud youth love gold so that he will creep after it
in the dirt, beg it from the wayfarer, suffer humilia-
tion, suffer disgrace, suffer cold, suffer hunger to get
it. Shall he starve his child, torture his wife, for that
same miserable gold? It is impossible. . Such he
can never be. He is a good man like all others.
He is not a monster.

The beloved of his youth does not walk by the
side of a despised wretch, unworthy of the profession
he has dared to undertake !

Oh, Eros, not that evening ! That evening he is
not the Broby clergyman, nor the next day either,
nor the day after.

The day after that she goes.

What a dream, what a beautiful dream ! For these
three days not a cloud !

She journeyed smiling home to her castle and her
memories. She never heard his name again, she
never asked after him. She wanted to dream that
dream as long as she lived.

The Broby clergyjnan sat in his lonely home and
wept She had made him young. Must he now be
old again? Should the evil spirit return and he be
despicable, contemptible, as he had been?

PA TRON JUL/ US

CHAPTER X

PATRON JULIUS

Patron Julius carried down his red-painted wooden
chest from the pensioners' wing. He filled with
fragrant brandy a green keg, which had followed
him on many journeys, and in the big carved luncheon-
box he put butter, bread, and seasoned cheese, deli-
ciously shading in green and brown, fat ham, and
pan-cakes swimming in raspberry jam.

Then Patron Julius went about and said farewell,
with tears in his eyes, to all the glory of Ekeby.
He caressed for the last time the worn balls in the
bowling-alley and the round-cheeked youngsters on
the estate. He went about to the arbors in the
garden and the grottos in the park. He was in
stable and cow-house, patted the horses' necks, shook
the angry bull's horns, and let the calves lick his
bare hand. Finally he went with weeping eyes to
the main building, where the farewell breakfast
awaited him.

Woe to our existence! How can it be full of so
much darkness.' There was poison in the food, gall
in the wine.

The pensioners' throats were compressed by emo-
tion as well as his own. A mist of tears dimmed
the eyes. The farewell speech was broken by sobs.
Woe to our existence! His life would be, from now
on, one long desire. He would never smile again;
hs ballads should die from his memory as flowers

322 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

die in the autumn ground. He should grow pale
and (hin, wither like a frost-bitten rose, like a thirst- '
ing lily. Never more should the pensioners see
poor Julius. Heavy forebodings traversed his soul,
just as shadows of wind-swept clouds traverse our
newly tilled fields. He would go home to die.

Blooming with health and well-being, he now
stood before them. Never again should they see
him so. Never more should they jestingly ask him
when he last saw his feet ; never more should they
wish for his cheeks for bowls. In liver and lungs
the disease had already settled. It was gnawing
and consuming. He had felt it long. His days
were numbered.

Oh, will the Ekeby pensioners but remember
death .^ Oh, may they never forget him!

Duty called him. There in his home sat his
mother and waited for him. For seventeen years
she had waited for him to come home from Ekeby.
Now she had written a summoning letter, and he
would obey. He knew that it would be his death;
but he would obey like a good son.

Oh, the glorious feasts ! Oh, the fair shores, the
proud falls! Oh, the wild adventures, the white,
smooth floors, the beloved pensioners' wing ! Oh,
violins and horns, oh, life of happiness and pleasure !
It was death to be parted from all that.

Then Patron Julius went out into the kitchen and
said farewell to the servants of the house. Each
and all, from the housekeeper to kitchen-girl, he
embraced and kissed in overflowing emotion. The
maids wept and lamented over his fate : that such a
kind and merry gentleman should die, that they
should never see him again.

PA TRON JULIUS 323

"Patron Julius gave command that his chaise should
be dragged out of the carriage-house and his borse
taken out of the stable.

His voice almost failed him when he gave that
order. So the chaise might not mould in peace at
Ekeby, so old Kajsa must be parted from the well-
known manger. He did not wish to say anything
hard about his mother; but she ought to have
thought of the chaise and Kajsa, if she did not think
of him. How would they bear the long journey.'

The most bitter of all was to take leave of the
pensioners.

Little, round Patron Julius, more built to roll
than to walk, felt himself tragic to his very finger-
tips. He felt himself the great Athenian, who
calmly emptied the poison cup in the circle of weep-
ing students. He felt himself the old King Gosta,
who prophesied to Sweden's people that they some
day should wish to tear him up from the dust.

Finally he sang his best ballad for them. He
thought of the swan, who dies in singing. It was
so, he hoped, that they would remember him, — a
kingly spirit, which does not lower itself to com-
plaining, but goes its way, borne on melody.

At last the last cup was emptied, the last song
sung, the last embrace given. He had his coat on,
and he held the whip in his hand. There was not a
dry eye about him ; his own were so filled by sorrow's
rising mist that he could not see anything.

Then the pensioners seized him and lifted him
up. Cheers thundered about him. They put him
down somewhere, he did not see where. A whip
cracked, the carriage seemed to move under him.
He was carried away. When he recovered the use
of his eyes he was out on the highway.

324 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

The pensioners had really wept and been over-
come by deep regret ; still their grief had not stifled
all the heart's glad emotions. One of them — was
it Gosta Berling, the poet, or Beerencreutz, the
card-playing old warrior, or the life-weary Cousin
Christopher? — had arranged it so that old Kajsa
did not have to be taken from her stall, nor the
mouldering chaise from the coach-house. Instead,
a big spotted ox had been harnessed to a hay-wagon,
and after the red chest, the green keg, and the carved
luncheon-box had been put in there. Patron Julius
himself, whose eyes were dim with tears, was lifted
up, not on to the luncheon-box, nor on to the chest,
but on to the spotted ox's back.

For so is man, tod weak to meet sorrow in all its
bitterness! The pensioners honestly mourned for
their friend, who was going away to die, — that
withered lily, that mortally wounded singing swan;
yet the oppression of their hearts was relieved when
they saw him depart riding on the big ox's back,
while his fat body was shaken with sobs, his arms,
outspread for the last embrace, sank down in despair,
and his eyes sought sympathy in an unkind heaven.

Out on the highway the mists began to clear for
Patron Julius, and he perceived that he was sitting
on the shaking back of an animal. And then people
say that he began to ponder on what can happen
in seventeen long years. Old Kajsa was visibly
changed. Could the oats and clover of Ekeby cause
so much } And he cried — I do not know if the
stones in the road or the birds in the bushes heard
it, but true it is that he cried — " The devil may tor-
ture me, if you have not got horns, Kajsa!"

After another period of consideration he let him-

PA TRON JULIUS 325

self slide gently down from the back of the ox,
climbed up into the wagon, sat down on the luncheon-
box, and drove on, deep in his thoughts.

After a while, when he has almost reached Broby,
he hears singing.

It was the merry young ladies from Berga, and
some of the judge's pretty daughters, who were walk-
ing along the road. They had fastened their lunch-
baskets on long sticks, which rested on their shoulders
like guns, and they were marching bravely on in the
summer's heat, singing in good time.

" Whither away. Patron Julius ? " they cried, when
they met him, without noticing the cloud of grief
which obscured his brow.

"I am departing from the home of sin and vanity,"
answered Patron Julius. "I will dwell no longer
among idlers and malefactors. I am going home to
my mother. "

"Oh," they cried, "it is not true; you do not want
to leave Ekeby, Patron Julius ! "

"Yes," he said, and struck his wooden chest with
his fist. " As Lot fled from Sodom and Gomorrah,
so do I flee from Ekeby. There is not a righteous
man there. But when the earth crumbles away under
them, and the sulphur rain patters down from the
sky, I shall rejoice in God's just judgment. Fare-
well, girls; beware of Ekeby!"

Whereupon he wished to continue on his way; but
that was not at all their plan. They meant to walk
up to Dunder Cliff, to climb it; but the road was
long, and they felt inclined to ride in Julius' wagon
to the foot of the mountain. Inside of two minutes
the girls had got their way. Patron Julius turned
back and directed his course towards Dunder Cliff.

326 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Smiling, he sat on his chest, while the wagon was
511ed with girls. Along the road grew daisies and
buttercups. The ox had to rest every now and then
for a while. Then the girls climbed out and picked
flowers. Soon gaudy wreaths hung on Julius' head
and the ox's horns.

Further on they came upon bright young birches
and dark alder-bushes. They got out and brdte
branches to adorn the wagon. It looked, soon, like
a moving grove. It was fun and play the whole
day.

Patron Julius became milder and brighter as the
day went on. He divided his provisions among the
girls, and sang ballads for them. When they stood
on the top of Dunder Cliff, with the wide panorama
lying below, so proud and beautiful that tears came
into their eyes at its loveliness, Julius felt his heart
beat violently; words poured from his lips, and he
spoke of his beloved land.

"Ah, Varmland," he said, "ever beautiful, ever
glorious ! Often, when I have seen thee before me
on a map, I have wondered what thou might repre-
sent; but now I understand what thou art. Thou
art an old, pious hermit, who sits quiet and dreams,
with crossed legs and hands resting in his lap.
Thou hast a pointed cap drawn down over thy half-
shut eyes. Thou art a muser, a holy dreamer, and
thou art very beautiful. Wide forests are thy dress.
Long bands of blue water and parallel chains of blue
hills border it. Thou art so simple that strangers
do not see how beautiful thou art. Thou art poor,
as the devout desire to be. Thou sittest still, while
Vanern's waves wash thy feet and thy crossed legs.
To the left thou hast thy fields of ore and thy iron-

PATRON JULIUS 327

works. There is thy beating heart. To the north
thou hast the dark, beautiful regions of the wilder-
ness, of mystery. There is thy dreaming head.

"When I see thee, gigantic, serious, my eyes are
filled with tears. Thou art stern in thy beauty.
Thou art meditation, poverty, resignation; and yet
I see in thy sternness the tender features of kind-
ness. I see thee and worship. If I only look into
the deep forest, if only the hem of thy garment
touches me, my spirit is healed. Hour after hour,
year after year, I have gazed into thy holy counte-
nance. What mystery are you hiding under lowered
eyelids, thou spirit of resignation ? Hast thou solved
the enigma of life and death, or art thou wondering
still, thou holy, thou giant-like.' For me thou art
the keeper of great, serious thoughts. But I see
people crawl on thee and about thee, creatures who
never seem to see the majesty of earnestness on thy
brow. They only see the beauty of thy face and thy
limbs, and are so charmed by it that they forget all
else.

"Woe is me, woe to us all, children of Varmland!
Beauty, beauty and nothing else, we demand of life.
We, children of renunciation, of seriousness, of pov-
erty, raise our hands in one long prayer, and ask the
one good: beauty. May life be like a rose-bush,
with blossoms of love, wine, and pleasure, and may
its roses be within every man's reach! Yes, that is
what we wish, and our land wears the features of
sternness, earnestness, renunciation. Our land is
the eternal symbol of meditation, but we have no
thoughts.

" Oh, Varmland, beautiful and glorious ! "
r So he spoke, with tears in his eyes, and with voice

328 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

vibrating with inspiration. The young girls heard
him with wonder and not without emotion. They
had little guessed the depth of feeling which was
hidden under that surface, glittering with jests and
laughter.

When it drew towards evening, and they once
more climbed into the hay-wagon, the girls hardly
knew whither Patron Julius drove them, until they
stopped -before the steps at Ekeby.

" Now we will go in here and have a dance, girls,"
said Patron Julius.

What did the pensioners say when they saw Patron
Julius come with a withered wreath round his hat,
and the hay-cart full of girls }

"We might have known that the girls had carried
him off," they said; "otherwise we should have had
him back here several hours earlier." For the pen-
sioners remembered that this was exactly the seven-
teenth time Patron Julius had tried to leave Ekeby,
once for every departing year. Now Patron Julius
had already forgotten both this attempt and all the
others. His conscience slept once more its year-
long sleep.

He was a doughty man, Patron Julius. He was
light in the dance, gay at the card-table. Pen,
pencil, and fiddle-bow lay equally well in his hand.
He had an easily moved heart, fair words on his
tongue, a throat full of songs. But what would have
been the good of all that if he had not possessed a
conscience, which made itself be felt only once a
year, like the dragon-flies, which free themselves
from the gloomy depths and take wings to live only
a few hours in the light of day and in the glory of
the sun?

THE PLASTER SAINTS 329

CHAPTER XI

THE PLASTER SAINTS

SVARTSJO church is white both outside and in : the
walls are white, the pulpit, the seats, the galleries,
the roof, the window-sashes, the altar-cloth, —
everything is white. In Svartsjo church are no
' decorations, no pictures, no coats of arms. Over
the altar stands only a wooden cross with a white
linen cloth. But it was not always so. Once the
roof was covered with paintings, and many colored
images of stone and plaster stood in that house of
God.

Once, many years ago, an artist in Svartsjo had
stood and watched the summer sky and the path of
the clouds across the sun. He had seen those white,
shining clouds, which in the morning float low on
the horizon, pile themselves up higher and higher
and raise themselves to storm the heavens. They
set up sails like ships. They raised standards like
warriors. They encroached on the whole sky.
They placed themselves before the sun, those grow-
ing monsters, and took on wonderful shapes. There
was a devouring lion; it changed into a powdered
lady. There was a giant with outstretched arms;
he laid himself down as a dreaming sphinx. Some
adorned their white nakedness with gold-bordered
mantles; others spread rouge over snowy cheeks.

330 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG.

There were plains. There were forests. There
were walled castles with high towers. The white
clouds were lords of the summer sky. They filled
the whole blue arch. They reached up to the sun
and hid it.

"Oh, how beautiful," thought the gentle artist,
" if the longing spirits could climb up on those tow-
ering mountains and be carried on those rocking
ships ever higher and higher upwards!"

And all at once he understood that the white
clouds were the vessels on which the souls of the
blessed were carried.

He saw them there. They stood on the gliding
masses with lilies in their hands and golden crowns
on their heads. Space echoed with their song.
Angels circled down on broad, strong wings to meet
them. Oh, what a host there were ! As the clouds
spread out, more and more were visible. They lay
on the cloud-beds like water-lilies on a pond ; they
adorned them, as lilies adorn the meadow. Cloud
after cloud rolled up. And all were filled with
heavenly hosts in armor of silver, of immortal singers
in purple-bordered mantles.

That artist had afterwards painted the roof in the
Svartsjo church. He had wished to reproduce there
the mounting clouds of the summer day, which bore
the blessed to the kingdom of heaven. The hand
which had guided the pencil had been strong, but
also rather stiff, so that the clouds resembled more
the curling locks of a full-bottomed wig than moun-
tains of soft mist. And the form the holy ones had
taken for the painter's fancy he was not able to give
them again, but instead clothed them in long, red
cloaks, and stiff bishops' mitres, or in black robes

THE PLASTER SAINTS 33 1

with stiff ruffles. He had given them big heads and
small bodies, and he had provided them with hand-
kerchiefs and prayer-books. Latin sentences flew out
of their mouths ; and for them whom he meant to be
the greatest, he had constructed solid wooden chairs
on the backs of the clouds, so that they could be
carried sitting comfortably to the everlasting life.

But every one knew that spirits and angels had
never shown themselves to the poor artist, and so
they were not much surprised that he had not
been able to give them celestial beauty. The good
master's pious work had seemed to many wonder-
fully fine, and much holy emotion had it wakened.
It would have been worthy to have been looked at
by our eyes as well.

But during the pensioners' year, Count Dohna had
the whole church whitewashed. Then the paintings
on the roof were destroyed. And all the plaster
saints were also taken away.

Alas ! the plaster saints !

There was a Saint Olof with crown on helm, an
axe in his hand, and a kneeling giant under his feet;
on the pulpit was a Judith in a red jacket and blue
skirt, with a sword in one hand and an hour-glass in
the other, — instead of the Assyrian general's head;
there was a mysterious Queen of Sheba in a blue
jacket and red skirt, with a web-foot on one leg and
her hands full of Sibylline books; there was a gray
Saint Goran lying alone on a bench in the choir, for
both horse and dragon had been broken away; there
was Saint Christopher with the flowering staff, and
Saint Erik with sceptre and axe, dressed in a flow-
ing brocaded cloak.

These saints were always losing their sceptres or

332 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG.

their ears or hands and had to be mended and
cleaned. The congregation wearied of it, and
longed to be rid of them. But the peasants would
never have done the saints any injury if Count
Henrik Dohna had not existed. It was he who had
them taken away.

When Count Dohna had caused his marriage to
be declared null and void, instead of seeking out his
wife and having it made legal, much indignation had
arisen ; for every one knew that his wife had left his
house only not to be tortured to death. It seemed
now as if he wanted to win back God's grace and
men's respect by a good work, and so he had Svartsjo
church repaired. He had the whole church white-
washed and the paintings torn down. He and his
men carried the images out in a boat and sank them
in the depths of the Lofven.

How could he dare to lay his hand on those mighty
ones of the Lord ?

Did the hand which struck off Holofemes' head
no longer hold a sword? Had Sheba's queen for-
gotten all secret knowledge, which wounds more
deeply than a poisoned arrow? Saint Olof, Saint
Olof, old viking, Saint Goran, old dragon-killer, the
noise of your deeds is, then, dead ! But it was best
that the saints did not wish to use force against their
destroyers. Since the Svartsjo peasants would not
pay for paint for their robes and gilding for their
crowns, they allowed Count Dohna to carry them
out and sink them in Lofven's bottomless depths.
They would not stand there and disfigure God's
house.

I thought of that boat with its load of saints glid-
ing over Lofven* s surface on a quiet summer even-

THE PLASTER SAINTS

333

ing in August. The man who rowed took slow
strokes, and threw timorous glances at the strange
passengers which lay in the how and stern; but
Count Dohna, who was also there, was not afraid.
He took them one by one and threw them into the
water. His brow was clear and he breathed deep.
He felt like a defender of the pure Evangelical
religion. And no miracle was performed in the old
saints' honor. Silent and dejected they sank down
into annihilation.

But the next Sunday morning Svartsjo church
stood gleamingly white. No images disturbed the
peace of meditation. Only with the eyes of the
soul could the virtuous contemplate the glory of
heaven and the faces of the blessed.

But the earth, men's beloved dwelling, is green,
the sky is blue. The world glows with colors. Why
should the church be white.' White as winter,
naked as poverty, pale as grief! It does not glitter
with hoar-frost like a wintry wood ; it does not shine
in pearls and lace like a white bride. The church
stands in white, cold whitewash, without an image,
without a picture.

That Sunday Count Dohna sat in a flower-trimmed
arm-chair in the choir, to be seen and to be praised
by all men. He who had had the old benches
mended, destroyed the disfiguring images, had set
new glass in all the broken windows, and had the
whole church whitewashed, should now be honored.
If he wished to soften the Almighty's anger, it was
right that he had adorned His temple as well as he
knew how. But why did he take praise for it ?

He, who came with implacable sternness on his

mscience, ought to have fallen on his knees and

334 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

begged his brothers and sisters in the church to
implore God to suffer him to come into his sanctu-
ary. It would have been better for him if he had
stood there like a miserable culprit than that he
should sit honored and blessed in the choir, and
receive praise because he had wished to make his
peace with God.

When the service was over and the last psalm
sung, no one left the church, for the clergyman was
to make a speech of thanks to the count. But it
never went so far.

For the doors were thrown open, back into the
church came the old saints, dripping with Lofven's
water, stained with green slime and brown mud.
They must have heard that here the praise of him
who had destroyed them, who had driven them out
of God's holy house and sunk them in the cold,
dissolving waves, should be sung. The old saints
wanted to have their share in the entertainment.

They do not love the waves' monotonous ripple.
They are used to psalms and prayers. They held
their peace and let it all happen, as long as they
believed that it would be to the honor of God. But
it was not so. Here sits Count Dohna in honor
and glory in the choir and wishes to be worshipped
and praised in the house of God. They cannot suffer
such a thing. Therefore they have risen from their
watery grave and march into the church, easily
recognizable to all. There is Saint Olof, with
crown on hat, and Saint Erik, with gold-brocaded
cloak, and the gray Saint Goran and Saint Chris-
topher; no more; the Queen of Sheba and Judith
had not come.

But when the people have recovered a little from

THE PLASTER SAINTS 335

their amazement, an audible whisper goes through
the church, —

" The pensioners ! "

Yes, of course it is the pensioners. And they
go up to the count without a word, and lift his chair
to their shoulders and carry him from the church
and set him down on the slope outside.

They say nothing, and look neither to the right
nor to the left. They merely carry Count Dohna
out of the house of Grod, and when that is done, they
go away again, the nearest way to the lake.

They used no violence, nor did they waste much
time in explanations. It was plain enough: "We
the Ekeby pensioners have our own opinion. Count
Dohna is not worthy to be praised in God's house.
Therefore we carry him out. Let him who will
carry him in again."

But he was not carried in. The clergyman's
speech of thanks was never made. The people
streamed out of the church. There was no one who
did not think the pensioners had acted rightly.

They thought of the fair young countess who had
been so cruelly tortured at Borg. They remembered
her who had been so kind to the poor, who had been
so sweet to look upon that it had been a consolation
for them to see her.

It was a pity to come with wild pranks into the
church; but both the clergyman and the congrega-
tion knew that they had been about to play a greater
trick on the Omniscient. And they stood ashamed
before the misguided old madmen.

"When man is silent, the stones must speak,*'
they said.

But after that day Count Henrik was not happy

336 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

at Borg. One dark night in the beginning of
August a closed carriage drove close up to the big
steps. All the servants stationed themselves about
it, and Countess Marta came out wrapped in shawls
with a thick veil over her face. The count led her,
but she trembled and shuddered. It was with the
greatest difficulty that they could persuade her to go
through the hall and down the steps.

At last she reached the carriage, the count sprang
in after her, the doors were slammed to, and the
coachman started the horses off at a gallop. The
next morning, when the magpies awoke, she was
gone.

The count lived from that time on far away in the
South of Sweden. Borg was sold and has changed
owners many times. No one can help loving it.
But few have been happy in its possession.

GOD'S WAYFARER 337

CHAPTER XII

god's wayfarer

God's wayfarer, Captain Lennart, came one after-
noon in August wandering up to the Broby inn and
walked into the kitchen there. He was on his way
to his home, Helgesater, which lies a couple of
miles northwest of Broby, close to the edge of the
wood.

Captain Lennart did not then know that he was to
be one of God's wanderers on the earth. His heart
was full of joy that he should see his home again.
He had suffered a hard fate; but now he was at
home, and all would be well. He did not know that
he was to be one of those who may not rest under
their own roof, nor warm themselves at their own
fires.

God's wayfarer. Captain Lennart, had a cheerful
spirit. As he found no one in the kitchen, he poked
about like a wild boy. He threw the cat at the
dog's head, and laughed till it rang through the
house when the two comrades let the heat of the
moment break through old friendship, and fought
with tooth and nail and fiery eyes.

The innkeeper's wife came in, attracted by the
noise. She stopped on the threshold and looked at
the man, who was laughing at the struggling ani-
mals. She knew him well ; but when she saw him

22

338 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

last, he had been sitting in the prison-van with
handcuffs on his wrists. She remembered it well.
Five years and a half ago, during the winter fair in
Karlstad, thieves had stolen the jewels of the gov-
ernor's wife. Many rings, bracelets, and buckles,
much prized by the noble lady, — for most of them
were heirlooms and presents, — had then been lost
They had never been found. But a rumor spread
through the land that Captain Lennart at Helgesater
was the thief.

She had never been able to understand how such
a rumor had started. He was such a good and hon-
orable man. He lived happily with his wife, whom
he had only a few years before brought home, for he
had not been able to afiford to marry before. Had
he not a good income from his pay and his estate?
What could tempt such a man to steal old bracelets
and rings } And still more strange it seemed to her
that such a rumor could be so believed, so proven,
that Captain Lennart was discharged from the army,
lost his order of the Sword, and was condemned to
five years' hard labor.

He himself had said that he had been at the
market, but had left before he heard an)^hing of the
theft. On the highway he had found an ugly old
buckle, which he had taken home and given to the
children. The buckle, however, was of gold, and
belonged to the stolen things; that was the cause
of his misfortune. It had all been Sintram's
work. He had accused him, and given the con-
demning testimony. It seemed as if he wanted to
get rid of Captain Lennart, for a short time after
a law-suit was opened against himself, because it
had been discovered that he had sold powder to the

r

GOD'S WAYFARER 339

Norwegians during the war of 1814. People believed
that he was afraid of Captain Lennart's testimony.
As it was, he was acquitted on the ground of not
proven.

She could not stare at him enough. His hair had
grown gray and his back bent; he must have suffeFed.
But he still had his friendly face and his cheerful
spirit. He was still the same Captain Lennart who
had led her forward to the altar, as a bride, and
danced at her wedding. She felt sure he would still
stop and chat with everybody he met on the road
and throw a copper to every child; he would still
say to every wrinkled old woman that she grew
younger and prettier ever day; and he would still
sometimes place himself on a barrel and play the
fiddle for those who danced about the Maypole.

"Well, Mother Karin," he began, "are you afraid
to look at me?"

He had come especially to hear how it was in his
home, and whether they expected him. They must
know that he had worked out his time.

The innkeeper's wife gave him the best of news.
His wife had worked like a man. She had leased
the estate from the new owner, and everything had
succeeded for her. The children were healthy, and
it was a pleasure to see them. And of course they
expected him. His wife was a hard woman, who
never spoke of what she thought, but she knew that
no one was allowed to eat with Captain Lennart's
spoon or to sit in his chair while he was away.
This spring, no day had passed without her coming
out to the stone at the top of Broby hill and looking
down the road. And she had put in order new
lothes for him, home-woven clothes, on which she

^

340 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

herself had done nearly all the work. By that one
could see that he was expected, even if she said
nothing.

"They don't believe it, then?" said Captain Len-
nart«

" No, captain," answered the peasant woman. " No-
body believes it."

Then Captain Lennart would stop no longer ; then
he wished to go home.

It happened that outside the door he met some
dear old friends. The pensioners at Ekeby had just
come to the inn. Sintram had invited them thither
to celebrate his birthday. And the pensioners did
not hesitate a minute before shaking the convict's
hand and welcoming him home. Even Sintram did
it.

" Dear Lennart," he said, " were you certain that
God had any meaning in it all? "

" Do you not think I know," cried Captain Lennart,
" that it was not our Lord who saved you from the
block?"

The others laughed. But Sintram was not at all
angry. He was pleased when people spoke of his
compact with the devil.

Yes, then they took Captain Lennart in with them
again to empty a glass of welcome ; after, he could
go his way. But it went badly for him. He had not
drunk such treacherous things for five years. Per-
haps he had eaten nothing the whole day, and was
exhausted by his long journey on foot. The result
was that he was quite confused after a couple of
glasses.

When the pensioners had got him into a state
when he no longer knew what he was doing, they

GOD'S WAYFARER 341

krced on him glass after glass, and they meant no
m by it; it was with good intention towards him,
) had not tasted anything good for five years.

Otherwise he was one of the most sober of men.
It is also easy to understand that he had no intention
to get drunk; he was to have gone home to wife and
children. But instead he was lying on the bench in
the bar-room, and was sleeping there.

While he lay there, temptingly unconscious, Gosta
took a piece of charcoal and a httle cranberry-juice
and painted him. He gave him the face of a crim-
inal; he thought that most suitable for one who
came direct from jail. He painted a black eye, drew
a red scar across his nose, plastered his hair down on
his forehead in matted tangles, and smeared his whole
face.

They laughed at it for a while, then Gosta wished
to wash it off.
1 "Let it be," said Sintram, "so that he can see it
Brhen he wakes. It will amuse him."
r So they left it as it was, and thought no more of
the captain. The feasting lasted the whole night.
They broke up at daybreak. There was more wine
than sense in their heads.

The question was what they should do with Captain
Lennart, " We will go home with him," said Sintram.
"Think how glad his wife will be! It will be a
pleasure to see her Joy. I am moved when I think
of it. Let us go home with him ! "

They were all moved at the thought Heavens,
how glad she would be !

They shook life into Captain Lennart and lifted
him into one of the carriages which the sleepy
torooms had long since driven up. And so the whole

342 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

mob drove up to Helgesater; some of them, half-
asleep, nearly fell out of the carriage, others sang to
keep awake. They looked little better than a com-
pany of tramps, with dull eyes and swollen faces.

They arrived at last, left the horses in the back-
yard and marched with a certain solemnity up to the
steps. Beerencreutz and Julius supported Captain
Lennart between them.

"Pull yourself together, Lennart," they said to
him, " you are at home. Don't you see that you 're
at home?"

He got his eyes open and was almost sober. He
was touched that they had accompanied him home.

" Friends," he said, and stopped to speak to them
all, " have asked God, friends, why so much evil has
passed over me."

" Shut up, Lennart, don't preach ! " cries Beeren-
creutz.

"Let him go on," says Sintram. "He speaks
well."

" Have asked Him and not understood ; understand
now. He wanted to show me what friends I had ;
friends who follow me home to see mine and my
wife's joy. For my wife is expecting me. What
are five years of misery compared to that? "

Now hard fists pounded on the door. The pen-
sioners had no time to hear more.

Within there was commotion. The maids awoke
and looked out. They threw on their clothes, but
did not dare to open for that crowd of men. At last
the bolt was drawn. The captain's wife herself came
out.

" What do you want? " she asked.

It was Beerencreutz who answered : -*

GOD'S WAYFARER

343

"We are here with your husband."

They pushed forward Captain Lennart, and she
saw him reel towards her, drunk, with a prize-fighter's
face; and behind him she saw the crowd of drunken,
reeling men.

She took a step back; he followed with out-
stretched arms. " You left me as a thief," she cried,
" and come home as a vagabond." Whereupon she
turned to go in.

He did not understand. He wished to follow her,
but she struck him a blow on the breast.

■' Do you think that I will receive such a man as
you as master in my house and over my children?"

The door slammed and the key turned in the lock.

Captain Lennart threw himself against the door and
began to shake it.

The pensioners could not help it, they began to
laugh. He had been so sure of his wife, and now
she would have nothing to do with him. It was
absurd, they thought.

When Captain Lennart heard them laughing, he
rushed after them and wished to beat them. They
ran away and leaped into their carriages, he after
them; but in his eagerness he stumbled over a stone
and fell. He got up again, but pursued them no
farther. A thought struck him in his confusion.
In this world nothing happens without God's will,
nothing.

" Where wilt thou lead me ? " he said. " I am a
feather, driven by thy breath. I am thy plaything.
Whither wilt thou send me? Why dost thou shut
the doors of my home to me?"

He turned away from his home, believing that it
i God's will.

344 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERLING

When the sun rose he stood at the top of Broby
hill and looked out over the valley. Ah, little did
the poor people in the valley know that their res-
cuer was near. No mothers as yet lifted their chil-
dren on their arms that they might see him as he
came. The cottages were not clean and in order,
with the black hearth hidden by fragrant juniper.
As yet the men did not work with eager industry
in the fields that his eyes might be gladdened by
the sight of cared-for crops and well-dug ditches.

Alas, where he stood his sorrowful eyes saw the rav-
ages of the drought, how the crops were burned up,
and how the people scarcely seemed to trouble them-
selves to prepare the earth for the coming year. He
looked up at the blue mountains, and the sharp
morning sun showed him the blackened stretches
where the forest-fires had passed. He understood
by many small signs, by the tumble-down fences, by
the small amount of wood which had been carted
home and sawed, that the people were not looking
after their affairs, that want had come, and that they
sought consolation in indifference and brandy.

Captain Lennart stood there on Broby hill and
began to think that God perhaps needed him. He
was not called home by his wife.

The pensioners could not at all understand what
their fault had been ; Sintram held his tongue. His
wife was much blamed through all the neighborhood,
because she had been too proud to receive such a
good husband. People said that any one who tried
to talk to her of him was instantly interrupted. She
could not bear to hear his name spoken. Captain
Lennart did nothing to give her other thoughts.

It was a day later.

COD'S WAYFARER

345

An old peasant is lying on his death-bed. He has
taken the sacrament, and his strength is gone ; he
must die.

Restless as one who is to set off on a long journey,
he has his bed moved from the kitchen to the bed-
room and from the bedroom back to the kitchen.
By that they understand, more than by the heavy
rattling and the failing eyes, that his time has come.

Round about him stand his wife, his children, and
servants. He has been fortunate, rich, esteemed.
He is not forsaken on his death-bed. The old man
speaks of himself as if he stood in the presence of
God, and with sighs and confirming words those
about him bear witness that he speaks the truth.

" I have been an industrious worker and a kind
master," he says. " I have loved my wife like my
right hand. I have not let my children grow up
without discipline and care. I have not drunk, I
have not moved my boundary line. I liave not
hurried my horse up the hills. I have not let the
cows starve in winter. I have not let the sheep be
tortured by their wool in summer."

And round about him the weeping servants repeat
like an echo: " He has been a kind master. He has
not hurried the horse up the hills, nor let the sheep
sweat in their woo! in summer."

But through the door unnoticed a poor man has
come in to ask for a little food. He also hears the
words of the dying man from where he stands silent
by the door.

And the sick man resumes: "I have opened up
the forest, I have drained the meadows. I drove the
plough in straight furrows. I built three times as

; a bam for three times as big a harvest as in my

346 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

father's time. Of shining money I had three silver
goblets made ; my father only made one. God shall
give me a good place in his heaven."

" Our Lord will receive our master well," say the
servants.

The man by the door hears the words, and terror
fills him who for five long years has been God's
plaything.

He goes up to the sick man and takes his hand.

" Friend, friend," he says, and his voice trembles,
" have you considered who the Lord is before whose
face you soon must appear? He is a great God, a
terrible God. The earth is his pasture. The storm
his horse. Wide heavens shake under the weight of
his foot. And you stand before him and say : ' I
have ploughed straight furrows, I have sowed rye, I
have chopped wood.' Will you praise yourself to
him and compare yourself to him } You do not know
how mighty the Lord is to whose kingdom you are
going.

" Do not come before your God with big words!"
continues the wayfarer. " The mighty on the earth
are like threshed-out straw in his barn. His day's
work is to make suns. He has dug out oceans and
raised up mountains. Bend before him ! Lie low in
the dust before your Lord, your God ! Catch like a
child at the hem of his garment and beg for protec-
tion ! Humble yourself before your Creator! "

The sick man's eyes stand wide-open, his hands are
clasped, but his face lights up and the rattling ceases.

"Soul, soul," cries the man, "as surely as you
now in your last hour humble yourself before your
God, will he take you like a child on his arm and
carry you into the glory of his heaven."

GOD'S WAYFARER 347

The old man gives a last sigh, and all is over.
Captain Lennart bends his head and prays. Every
one in the room prays with heavy sighs.

When they look up the old peasant lies in quiet
peace. His eyes seem still to shine with the reflec-
tion of glorious visions, his mouth smiles, his face is
beautiful. He has seen God.

" He has seen God," says the son, and closes the
dead man's eyes.

** He saw heaven opening," sob the children and
servants.

The old wife lays her shaking hand on Captain
Lennart's.

" You helped him over the worst, captain."

It was that hour which drove Captain Lennart out
among the people. Else he would have gone home
and let his wife see his real face, but from that time
he believed that God needed him. He became God's
wayfarer, who came with help to the poor. Distress
was great, and there was much suffering which good
sense and kindness could help better than gold and
power.

Captain Lennart came one day to the poor peas-
ants who lived in the neighborhood of Gurlitta Cliff.
Among them there was great want; there were no
more potatoes, and the rye could not be sown, as
they had no seed.

Then Captain Lennart took a little boat and rowed
across the lake to Fors and asked Sintram to give
them rye and potatoes. Sintram received him well :
he took him to the big, well-stocked g^ain-houses and
down into the cellar, where the potatoes of last year's
crop were, and let him fill all the bags and sacks he
had with him.

348 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

But when Sintram saw the little boat, he thought
that it was too small for such a load. He had the
sacks carried to one of his big boats, and his servant,
big Mons, row it across the lake. Captain Lennart
had only his empty boat to attend to.

He came however after Mons, for the latter was a
master of rowing and a giant in strength. Captain
Lennart sits and dreams, while he rows across the
beautiful lake, and thinks of the little seed-corns'
wonderful fate. They were to be thrown out on the
black earth among stones and stubble, but they
would sprout and take root in the wilderness. He
thinks how the soft, light-green shoots will cover the
earth, and how, finally, when the ears are filled with
soft, sweet kernels, the scythe will pass, and the straws
fall, and the flail thunder over them, and the mill
crush the kernels to meal, and the meal be baked
into bread, — ah, how much hunger will be satisfied
by the grain in the boat in front of him !

Sintram's servant landed at the pier of the Gurlitta
people, and many hungry men came down to the boat

Then the man said, as his master had ordered : —

" The master sends you malt and grain, peasants.
He has heard that you have no brandy."

Then the people became as mad. They rushed
down to the boat and ran out into the water to seize
on bags and sacks, but that had never been Captain
Lennart's meaning. He had now come, and he was
furious when he saw what they were doing. He
wanted to have the potatoes for food, and the rye for
seed; he had never asked for malt

He called to the people to leave the sacks alone,
but they did not obey.

" May the rye turn to sand in your mouths, and the

GOD'S WAYFARER 349

potatoes to stone in your throats ! " he cried, for he
was very angry because they had taken the grain.

It looked as if Captain Lennart had worked a
miracle. Two women, who were fighting for a bag,
tore a hole in it and found only sand ; the men who
lifted up the potato-sacks, felt how heavy they were,
as if filled with stones.

It was all sand and stones, only sand and stones.
The people stood in silent terror of God's miracle-
worker who had come to them. Captain Lennart
was himself for a moment seized with astonishment.
Only Mons laughed.

** Go home, fellow," said Captain Lennart, " before
the peasants understand that there has never been
anything but sand in these sacks; otherwise I am
afraid they will sink your boat."

" I am not afraid," said the man.

" Go," said Captain Lennart, with such an imperious
voice that he went.

Then Captain Lennart let the people know that
Sintram had fooled them, but they would not believe
anything but that a miracle had happened. The
story of it spread soon, and as the people's love of
the supernatural is great, it was generally believed
that Captain Lennart could work wonders. He won
great power among the peasants, and they called
him God's wayfarer.

3 so THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER XIII

THE CHURCHYARD

It was a beautiful evening in August. The Lofven
lay like a mirror, haze veiled the mountains, it was
the cool of the evening.

There came Beerencreutz, the colonel with the
white moustaches, short, strong as a wrestler, and
with a pack of cards in his coat pocket, to the shore
of the lake, and sat down in a flat-bottomed boat
With him were Major Anders Fuchs, his old brother-
at-arms, and little Ruster, the flute-player, who had
been drummer in the Varmland chasseurs^ and during
many years had followed the colonel as his friend
and servant.

On the other shore of the lake lies the churchyard,
the neglected churchyard, of the Svartsjo parish,
sparsely set with crooked, rattling iron crosses, full
of hillocks like an unploughed meadow, overgrown
with sedges and striped grasses, which had been
sowed there as a reminder that no man's life is like
another's, but changes like the leaf of the grass.
There are no gravel walks there, no shading trees
except the big linden on the forgotten grave of some
old priest. A stone wall, rough and high, encloses
the miserable field. Miserable and desolate is the
churchyard, ugly as the face of a miser, which has
withered at the laments of those whose happiness he

\

THE CHURCHYARD 351

has stolen. And yet they who rest there are blessed,
they who have been sunk into consecrated earth
to the sound of psalms and prayers. Acquilon, the
gambler, he who died last year at Ekeby, had had
to be buried outside the wall. That man, who once
had been so proud and courtly, the brave warrior,
the bold hunter, the gambler who held fortune in his
hand, he had ended by squandering his children's
inheritance, all that he had gained himself, all that
his wife had saved. Wife and children he had for-
saken many years before, to lead the life of a pen-
sioner at Ekeby. One evening in the past summer
he had played away the farm which gave them their
means of subsistence. Rather than to pay his debt
he had shot himself. But the suicide's body was
buried outside the moss-grown wall of the miserable
churchyard.

Since he died the pensioners had only been twelve ;
since he died no one had come to take the place of
the thirteenth, — no one but the devil, who on Christ-
mas Eve had crept out of the furnace.

The pensioners had found his fate more bitter than
that of his' predecessors. Of course they knew that
one of them must die each year. What harm was
there in that? Pensioners may not be old. Can
their dim eyes no longer distinguish the cards, can
their trembling hands no longer lift the glass, what
is life for them, and what are they for life ? But to
lie like a dog by the churchyard wall, where the
protecting sods may not rest in peace, but are
trodden by grazing sheep, wounded by spade and
plough, where the wanderer goes by without slacken-
ing his pace, and where the children play without
subduing their laughter and jests, — to rest there.

352 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

where the stone wall prevents the sound from com-
ing when the angel of the day of doom wakes with
his trumpet the dead within, — oh, to lie there !

Beerencreutz rows his boat over the Lofven. He
passes in the evening over the lake of my dreams,
about whose shores I have seen gods wander, and
from whose depths my magic palace rises. He rows
by Lagon's lagoons, where the pines stand right
up from the water, growing on low, circular shoals,
and where the ruin of the tumble-down Viking
castle still remains on the steep summit of the island ;
he rows under the pine grove on Borg*s point, where
one old tree still hangs on thick roots over the
cleft, where a mighty bear had been caught .and where
old mounds and graves bear witness of the age
of the place.

He rows to the other side of the point, gets out
below the churchyard, and then walks over mowed
fields, which belong to the count at Borg, to Acqui-
lon's grave.

Arrived there, he bends down and pats the turf,
as one lightly caresses the blanket under which a
sick friend is lying. Then he takes out a pack of
cards and sits down beside the grave.

" He is so lonely outside here, Johan Fredrik. He
must long sometimes for a game."

'' It is a sin and a shame that such a man shall
lie here," says the great bear-hunter, Anders Fuchs,
and sits down at his side.

But little Ruster, the flute-player, speaks with
broken voice, while the tears run from his small red
eyes.

" Next to you, colonel, next to you he was the
finest man I have ever known."

r

THE CHURCHYARD 353

These three worthy men sit round the grave and
deal the cards seriously and with zeal.

I look out over the world, I see many graves.
There rest the mighty ones of the earth, weighed
down by marble. Funeral marches thunder over
them. Standards are sunk over those graves. I see
the graves of those who have been much loved.
Flowers, wet with tears, caressed with kisses, rest
lightly on their green sods. I see forgotten graves,
arrogant graves, lying resting-places, and others
which say nothing, but never before did I see the
right-bower and the Joker with the bells in his cap
offered as entertainment to a grave's occupant.

" Johan Fredrik has won," says the colonel, proudly.
" Did I not know it? I taught him to play. Yes,
now we are dead, we three, and he alone alive."

Thereupon he gathers together the cards, rises, and
goes, followed by the others, back to Ekeby.

May the dead man have known and felt that not
every one has forgotten him or his forsaken grave.

Strange homage wild hearts bring to them they
love; but he who lies outside the wall, he whose
dead body was not allowed to rest in consecrated
ground, he ought to be glad that not every one has
rejected him.

Friends, children of men. when I die I shall surely
rest in the middle of the churchyard, in the tomb of
my ancestors. I shall not have robbed my family
of their means of subsistence, nor lifted my hand
against my own life, but certainly I have not won such

love, surely will no one do as much for me as the
oners did for that culprit It is certain that no
vill come in the evening, when the sun sets and
lonely and dreary in the gardens of the dead,

\

3S4 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

to place between my bony fingers the many-colored
cards.

Not even will any one come, which would please
me more, — for cards tempt me little, — with fiddle
and bow to the grave, that my spirit, which wanders
about the mouldering dust, may rock in the flow of
melody like a swan on glittering waves.

OLD SONGS 355

CHAPTER XIV

OLD SONGS

Marianne Sinclair sat one quiet afternoon at the
end of August in her room and arranged her old
letters and other papers.

Round about her was disorder. Great leather
trunks and iron bound boxes had been dragged into
the room. Her clothes covered the chairs and sofas.
From attics and wardrobes and from the stained
chests of drawers everything had been taken out,
glistening silk and linen, jewels spread out to be pol-
ished, shawls and furs to be selected and inspected.

Marianne was making herself ready for a long jour-
ney. She was not certain if she should ever return
to ^er home. She was at a turning-point in her life
and therefore burned a mass of old letters and diaries.
She did not wish to be weighed down with records of
the past.

As she sits there, she finds a bundle of old verses.
They were copies of old ballads, which her mother
used to sing to her when she was little. She untied
the string which held them together, and began to
read.

She smiled sadly when she had read for a while;
the old songs spoke strange wisdom.

Have no faith in happiness, have no faith in the
appearance of happiness, have no faith in roses.

356 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

" Trust not laughter," they said. " See, the lovely
maiden Valborg drives in a golden coach, and her
lips smile, but she is as sorrowful as if hoofs and
wheels were passing over her life's happiness."

" Trust not the dance," they said. " Many a foot
whirls lightly over polished floor, while the heart is
heavy as lead."

" Trust not the jest," they said. " Many a one goes
to the feast with jesting lips, while she longs to die for
pain."

In what shall one believe? In tears and sorrow!

He who is sorrowful can force himself to smile,
but he who is glad cannot weep.

But joy is only sorrow disguised. There is nothing
real on earth but sorrow.

She went to the window and looked out into the
garden, where her parents were walking. They went
up and down the broad paths and talked of everything
which met their eyes, of the grass and the birds.

" See," said Marianne, " there goes a heart which
sighs with sorrow, because it has never been so happy
before."

And she thought suddenly that perhaps everything
really depended on the person himself, that sorrow
and joy depended upon the different ways of looking
at things. She asked herself if it were joy or sorrow
which had passed over her that year. She hardly
knew herself.

She had lived through a bitter time. Her soul had
been sick. She had been bowed down to the earth
by her deep humiliation. For when she returned to
her home she had said to herself, ** I will remember
no evil of my father." But her heart did not agree.
" He has caused me such mortal pain," it said ; " he

OLD SONGS 357

s parted me from him I loved ; he made me desper-
ate when he struck my mother. I wish him no harm,
but I am afraid of him." And then she noticed how
she had to force herself to sit still when her father
sat down beside her; she longed to flee from him.
She tried to control herself; she talked with him as
usual and was almost always with him. She could
conquer herself, but she suffered beyond endurance.
She ended by detesting everything about him: his
coarse loud voice, his heavy tread, his big hands.
She wished him no harm, but she could no longer be
near him without a feeling of fear and repulsion.
Her repressed heart revenged itself. "You would
not let me love," it said, " but I am nevertheless your
master; you shall end by hating."

Accustomed as she was to observe everything
which stirred within her, she saw too well how this
repulsion became stronger, how it grew each day.
At the same time she seemed to be tied forever to
her home. She knew that it would be best for her
to go away among people, but she could not bring
herself to it since her illness. It would never be any
better. She would only be more and more tortured,
and some day her self-control would give way, and
she would burst out before her father and show him
the bitterness of her heart, and then there would be
strife and unhappiness.

So had the spring and early summer passed. In
July she had become engaged to Baron Adrian, in
order to have her own home.

One fine forenoon Baron Adrian had galloped up
to the house, riding a magnificent horse. His hussar
jacket had shone in the sun, his spurs and sword and
belt had glittered and flashed, to say nothing of his
own fresh face and smiling eyes.

358 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

Melchior Sinclair had stood on the steps and wel-
comed him when he came. Marianne had sat at the
window and sewed. She had seen him come, and now
heard every word he said to her father.

** Good-day, Sir Sunshine ! " cried Melchior. " How
fine you are ! You are not out to woo ? "

•*Yes, yes, uncle, that is just what I am," he
answered, and laughed.

** Is there no shame in you, boy? What have you
to maintain a wife with ? "

" Nothing, uncle. Had I anything, I would never
get married."

**Do you say that, do you say that. Sir Sunshine?
But that fine jacket, — you have had money enough
to get you that?"

" On credit, uncle."

" And the horse you are riding, that is worth a lot
of money, I can tell you. Where did you get that?"

" The horse is not mine, uncle."

This was more than Melchior could withstand.

" God be with you, boy, " he said. ** You do
indeed need a wife who has something. If you can
win Marianne, take her."

So everything had been made clear between them
before Baron Adrian had even dismounted. But
Melchior Sinclair knew very well what he was about,
for Baron Adrian was a fine fellow.

Then the suitor had come in to Marianne and im-
mediately burst out with his errand.

" Oh, Marianne, dear Marianne. I have already
spoken to uncle. I would like so much to have you
for my wife. Say that you will, Marianne. "

She had got at the truth. The old baron^ his father,
had let himself be cheated into buying some used-up

OLD SONGS 359

mines again. The old baron had been buying mines
all his life, and never had anything been found in them.
His mother was anxious, he himself was in debt, and
now he was proposing to her in order to thereby save
the home of his ancestors and his hussar jacket.

His home was Hedcby; it lay on the other side of
the lake, almost opposite Bjbrne. She knew hira
well ; they were of the same age and playmates.

" You might marry me, Marianne. I lead such a
wretched life. I have to ride on borrowed horses
and cannot pay my tailor's bills. It can't go on. I
shall have to resign, and then I shall shoot myself."

"But, Adrian, what kind of a marriage would it
be? We are not in the least in love with one
another."

" Oh, as for love, I care nothing for all that non-
sense," he had then explained. " I like to ride a
good horse and to hunt, but I am no pensioner, I am
a worker. If I only could get some money, so that I
could take charge of the estate at home and give my
mother some peace in her old age, I should be happy.
I should both plough and sow, for [ like work."

Then he had looked at her with his honest eyes,
and she knew that he spoke the truth and that he
was a man to depend upon. She engaged herself to
him, chiefly to get away from her home, but also
because she had always iiked him.

But never would she forget that month which fol-
lowed the August evening when her engagement
was announced, — all that time of madness.

Baron Adrian became each day sadder and more
silent. He came very often to Bjorne, sometimes
several times a day, but she could not help noticing
low depressed he was. With others he could still

36o THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

jesty but with her he was impossible, silent and bored.
She understood what was the matter : it was not so
easy as he had believed to marry an ugly woman.
No one knew better than she how ugly she was. She
had shown him that she did not want any caresses or
love-making, but he was nevertheless tortured by the
thought of her as his wife, and it seemed worse to
him day by day. Why did he care? Why did he
not break it oflf? She had given hints which were
plain enough. She could do nothing. Her father
had told her that her reputation would not bear any
more ventures in being engaged. Then she had de-
spised them both, and any way seemed good enough
to get away from them. But only a couple of days
after the great engagement feast a sudden and won-
derful change had come.

In the path in front of the steps at Bjorne lay a big
stone, which caused much trouble and vexation.
Carriages rolled over it, horses and people tripped
on it, the maids who came with heavy milk cans ran
against it and spilled the milk ; but the stone remained,
because it had already lain there so many years. It
had been there in the time of Sinclair's parents, long
before any one had thought of building at Bjorne.
He did not see why he should take it up.

But one day at the end of August, two maids, who
were carrying a heavy tub, tripped over the stone ;
they fell, hurt themselves badly, and the feeling
against the stone grew strong.

It was early in the morning. Melchior was out on
his morning walk, but as the workmen were about the
house between eight and nine, Madame Gustava had
several of them come and dig up the big stone.

/

OLD SONGS 361

They came with iron levers and spades, dug and
strained, and at last got the old disturber of the peace
up out of his hole. Then they carried him away to
the back yard. It was work for six men.

The stone was hardly taken up before Melchior
came home. You can believe that he was angry. It
was no longer the same place, he thought. Who had
dared to move the stone? Madame Gustava had
given the order. Those women had no heart in their
bodies. Did not his wife know that he loved that
stone ?

And then he went direct to the stone, lifted it, and
carried it across the yard to the place where it had
lain, and there he flung it down. And it was a stone
which six men could scarcely lift. That deed was
mightily admired through the whole of Varmland.

While he carried the stone across the yard, Mari-
anne had stood at the dining-room window and looked
at him. He was her master, that terrible man with
his boundless strength, — an unreasonable, capricious
master, who thought of nothing but his own pleasure.

They were in the midst of breakfast, and she had a
carving-knife in her hand. Involuntarily she lifted
the knife.

Madame Gustava seized her by the wrist.

" Marianne ! "

" What is the matter, mother? "

"Oh, Marianne, you looked so strange! I was
frightened."

Marianne looked at her. She was a little, dry
woman, gray and wrinkled already at fifty. She
loved like a dog, without remembering knocks and
blows. She was generally good-humored, and yet
she made a melancholy impression. She was like a

362 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Storm-whipped tree by the sea ; she had never had
quiet to grow. She had learned to use mean shifts,
to lie when needed, and often made herself out more
stupid than she was to escape taunts. In everything
she was the tool of her husband.

"Would you grieve much if father died?" asked
Marianne.

" Marianne, you are angry with your father. You
are always angry with him. Why cannot everything
be forgotten, since you have got a new fianc6 ? "

" Oh, mother, it is not my fault. Can I help shud-
dering at him ? Do you not see what he is ? Why
should I care for him? He is violent, he is uncouth,
he has tortured you till you are prematurely old.
Why is he our master? He behaves like a madman.
Why shall I honor and respect him? He is not
good, he is not charitable. I know that he is strong.
He is capable of beating us to death at any moment.
He can turn us out of the house when he will. Is
that why I should love him? "

But then Madame Gustava had been as never before.'
She had found strength and courage and had spoken
weighty words.

" You must take care, Marianne. It almost seems
to me as if your father was right when he shut you
out last winter. You shall see that you will be
punished for this. You must teach yourself to bear
without hating, Marianne, to suffer without revenge."

" Oh, mother, I am so unhappy."

Immediately after, they heard in the hall the sound
of a heavy fall.

They never knew if Melchior Sinclair had stood on
the steps and through the open dining-room door had
heard Marianne's words, or if it was only over-exertion

OLD SONGS 363

which had been the cause of the stroke. When they
came out he lay unconscious. They never dared to
ask him the cause. He himself never made any sign
that he had heard anything. Marianne never dared
to think the thought out that she had involuntarily
revenged herself. But the sight of her father lying on
the very steps where she had learnt to hate him took
all bitterness from her heart

He soon returned to consciousness, and when he
had kept quiet a few days, he was like himself — and
yet not at all like.

Marianne saw her parents walking together in the
garden. It was always so now. He never went out
alone, grumbled at guests and at everything which
separated him from his wife. Old age had come upon
him. He could not bring himself to write a letter;
his wife had to do it. He never decided anything by
himself, but asked her about everything and let it be
as she decided. And he was always gentle and kind.
He noticed the change which had come over him, and
how happy his wife was. " She is well off now," he
said one day to Marianne, and pointed to Madame
Gustava.

" Oh, dear Melchior," she cried, "you know very
well that I would rather have you strong again."

And she really meant it. It was her joy to speak
of him as he was in the days of his strength. She told
how he held his own in riot and revel as well as any
of the Ekeby pensioners, how he had done good
business and earned much money, just when she
thought that he in his madness would lose house and
lands. But Marianne knew that she was happy in spite
of all her complaints. To be everything to her husband
enough for her. They both looked old, pre-

364 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

maturely broken. Marianne thought that she could
see their future life. He would get gradually weaker
and weaker; other strokes would make him more
helpless, and she would watch over him until death
parted them. But the end might be far distant
Madame Gustava could enjoy her happiness in peace
still for a time. It must be so, Marianne thought
Life owed her some compensation.

For her too it was better. No fretting despair forced
her to marry to get another master. Her wounded
heart had found peace. She had to acknowledge that
she was a truer, richer, nobler person than before;
what could she wish undone of what had happened?
Was it true that all suffering was good? Could every-
thing be turned to happiness? She had begun to
consider everything good which could help to develop
her to a higher degree of humanity. The. old songs
were not right. Sorrow was not the only lasting
thing. She would now go out into the world and look
about for some place where she was needed. If her
father had been in his old mood, he would never have
allowed her to break her engagement Now Madame
Gustava had arranged the matter. Marianne had even
been allowed to give Baron Adrian the money he
needed.

She could think of him too with pleasure, she would
be free from him. With his bravery and love of life
he had always reminded her of Gosta ; now she should
see him glad again. He would again be that sunny
knight who had come in his glory to her father's
house. She would get him lands where he could
plough and dig as much as his heart desired, and
she would see him lead a beautiful bride to the altar.

With such thoughts she sits down and writes to

OLD SONGS 365

give him back his freedom. She writes gentle, pur-
suasive words, sense wrapped up in jests, and yet so
that he must understand how seriously she means it.

While she writes she hears hoof-beats on the road.

** My dear Sir Sunshine," she thinks, " it is the last
time."

Baron Adrian immediately after comes into her
room.

"What, Adrian, are you coming in here?" and she
looks dismayed at all her packing.

He is shy and embarrassed and stammers out an
excuse.

'* I was just writing to you," she says. " Look, you
might as well read it now."

He takes the letter and she sits and watches him
while he reads. She longs to see his face light up
with joy.

But he has not read far before he grows fiery red,
throws the letter on the floor, stamps on it, and swears
terrible oaths.

Marianne trembles slightly. She is no novice in
the study of love ; ' still she has not before tmderstood
this inexperienced boy, this great child.

" Adrian, dear Adrian," she says, " what kind of a
comedy have you played with me ? Come and tell
me the truth."

He came and almost suffocated her vdth caresses.
Poor boy, so he had cared and longed.

After a while she looked out. There walked
Madame Gustava and talked with her husband of
flowers and birds, and here she sat and chatted of
love. " Life has let us both feel its serious side," she
thought, and smiled sadly. " It wants to comfort us ;
we have each got her big child to play with."

366 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

However, it was good to be loved. It was sweet
to hear him whisper of the magical power which she
possessed, of how he had been ashamed of what he
had said at their first conversation. He had not
then known what charm she had. Oh, no man
could be near her without loving her, but she had
frightened him ; he had felt so strangely subdued.

It was not happiness, nor unhappiness, but she
would try to live with this man.

She began to understand herself, and thought of the
words of the old songs about the turtle-dove. It never
drinks clear water, but first muddies it with its foot
so that it may better suit its sorrowful spirit. So too
should she never go to the spring of life and drink
pure, unmixed happiness. Troubled with sorrow, life
pleased her best.

DEATH, THE DELIVERER 367

CHAPTER XV

DEATH, THE DELIVERER

My pale friend, Death the deliverer, came in August,
when the nights were white with moonlight, to the
house of Captain Uggla. But he did not dare to go
direct into that hospitable home, for they are few
who love him, and he does not wish to be greeted
with weeping, rather with quiet joy, — he who comes to
set free the soul from the fetters of pain, he who
delivers the soul from the burden of the body and lets
it enjoy the beautiful life of the spheres.

Into the old grove behind the house, crept Death.
In the grove, which then was young and full of green,
my pale friend hid himself by day, but at night he
stood at the edge of the wood, white and pale, with
his scythe glittering in the moonlight.

Death stood there, and the creatures of the night
saw him. Evening after evening the people at Berga
heard how the fox howled to foretell his coming.
The snake crawled up the sandy path to the very
house. He could not speak, but they well under-
stood that he came as a presage. And in the apple-
tree outside the window of the captain's wife the owl
hooted. For everything in nature feels Death and
trembles.

It happened that the judge from Munkerud, who
had been at a festival at the Bro deanery, drove by

368 THE STORY OF COSTA

Berga at two o'clock in the night and saw a candle
burning in the window of the gnest-room. He plainty
saw the yellow flame and the white candle, and, won-
dering, he afterwards told of die candle which had
burned in the summer night

The gay daughters at Bei^ laughed and said that
the judge had the gift of second sight, for there were
no candles in the house, they were already burned up
in March; and the captain swore that no one had
slept in the guest-room for da3rs and weeks ; but his
wife was silent and grew pale, for that white candle
with the clear flame used to show itself when one of
her family should be set free by Death.

A short time after, Ferdinand came home from a
surveying journey in the northern forests. He came,
pale and ill with an incurable disease of the lungs,
and as soon as his mother saw him, she knew that her
son must die.

He must go, that good son who had never given
his parents a sorrow. He must leave earth's pleas-
ures and happiness, and the beautiful, beloved bride
who awaited him, and the rich estates which should
have been his.

At last, when my pale friend had waited a month,
he took heart and went one night up to the house.
He thought how hunger and privation had there been
met by glad faces, so why should not he too be
received with joy?

That night the captain's wife, who lay awake, heard
a knocking on the window-pane, and she sat up in
bed and asked: "Who is it who knocks?"

And the old people tell that Death answered her :

" It is Death who knocks."

Then she rose up, opened her window, and saw bats

DEATH, THE DELIVERER 369

and owls fluttering in the moonlight, but Death she
did not see.

" Come," she said half aloud, " friend and deliverer !
Why have you lingered so long? I have been wait-
ing. I have called. Come and set my son free ! "

The next day, she sat by her son's sick-bed and
spoke to him of the blissfulness of the liberated spirit
and of its glorious life.

So Ferdinand died, enchanted by bright visions,
smiling at the glory to come.

Death had never seen anything so beautiful. For
of course there were some who wept by Ferdinand
Uggla's deathbed ; but the sick man himself smiled at
the man with the scythe, when he took his place on
the edge of the bed, and his mother listened to the
death-rattle as if to sweet music. She trembled lest
Death should not finish his work ; and when the end
came, tears fell from her eyes, but they were tears of
joy which wet her son's stiffened face.

Never had Death been so feted as at Ferdinand
Uggla's burial.

It was a wonderful funeral procession which passed
under the lindens. In front of the flower-decked
coffin beautiful children walked and strewed flowers.
There was no mourning-dress, no crape ; for his mother
had wished that he who died with joy should not be
followed to the good refuge by a gloomy funeral pro-
cession, but by a shining wedding train.

Following the coffin, went Anna Stjarnhok, the
dead man's beautiful, glowing bride. She had set a
bridal wreath on her head, hung a bridal veil over her,
and arrayed herself in a bridal dress of white, shim-
mering satin. So adorned, she went to be wedded at

the grave to a mouldering bridegroom.

24

370 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

Behind her they came, two by two, dignified old
ladies and stately men. The ladies came in shining
buckles and brooches, with strings of milk-white
pearb and bracelets of gold. Ostrich feathers nodded
in their bonnets of silk and lace, and from their shoul-
ders floated thin silken shawb over dresses of many-
colored satin. And their husbands came in their best
array, in high-collared coats with gilded buttons, with
swelling ruffles, and in vests of stiff brocade or richly-
embroidered velvet. It was a wedding procession;
the captain's wife had wished it so.

She herself walked next after Anna Stjamhok, led
by her husband. If she had possessed a dress of
shining brocade, she would have worn it ; if she had
possessed jewels and a gay bonnet, she would have
worn them too to do honor to her son on his festival
day. But she only had the black silk dress and the
yellowed laces which had adorned so many feasts,
and she wore them here too.

Although all the guests came in their best array,
there was not a dry eye when they walked forward to
the grave. Men and women wept, not so much for
the dead, as for themselves. There walked the bride;
there the bridegroom was carried ; there they them-
selves wandered, decked out for a feast, and yet —
who is there who walks earth's green pathways and
does not know that his lot is affliction, sorrow, un-
happiness, and death. They wept at the thought that
nothing on earth could save them.

The captain's wife did not weep ; but she was the
only one whose eyes were dry. •

When the prayers were read, and the grave filled in,
all went away to the carriages. Only the mother and
Anna Stjarnhok lingered by the grave to bid their

DEATH, THE DELIVERER 37 1

dead a last good-bye. The older woman sat down on
the grave-mound, and Anna placed herself at her
side.

" Anna," said the captain's wife, " I have said to
God : ' Let Death come and take away my son, let
him take away him I love mo3t, and only tears of joy
shall come to my eyes ; with nuptial pomp I will fol-
low him to his grave, and my red rose-bush, which
stands outside my chamber-window, will I move to
him in the grave-yard.' And now it has come to pass
my son is dead. I have greeted Death like a friend,
called him by the tenderest names ; I have wept tears
of joy over my son's dead face, and in the autumn,
when the leaves are fallen, I shall plant my red rose-
bush here. But do you know, you who sit here at
my side, why I have sent such prayers to God? "

She looked questioningly at Anna Stjarnhok ; but
the girl sat silent and pale beside her. Perhaps she
was struggling to silence inward voices which already
there, on the grave of the dead, began to whisper to
her that now at last she was free.

" The fault is yours," said the captain's wife.

The girl sank down as from a blow. She did not
answer a word.

" Anna Stjarnhok, you were once proud and self-
willed : you played with my son, took him and cast
him off. But what of that? He had to accept it, as
well as another. Perhaps too he and we all loved
your money as much as you. But you came back,
you came with a blessing to our home; you were
gentle and mild, strong and kind, when you came
again. You cherished us with love ; you made us so
happy, Anna Stjarnhok; and we poor people lay at
your feet.

372 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

''And yet, and yet I have wished that you had
not come. Then had I not needed to pray to God
to shorten my son's life. At Christmas he could have
borne to lose you, but after he had learnt to know you,
such as you now are, he would not have had the
strength.

" You know, Anna Stjamhok, who to-day have put
on your bridal dress to follow my son, that if he had
lived you would never have followed him in that
attire to the Bro church, for you did not love him.

" I saw that you only came out of pity, for you
wanted to relieve our hard lot. You did not love
him. Do you not think that I know love, that I see
it, when it is there, and understand when it is lack-
ing. Then I thought : * May God take my son's
life before he has his eyes opened ! '

** Oh, if you had loved him ! Oh, if you had never
come to us and sweetened our lives, when you did
not love him ! I knew my duty : if he had not died,
I should have been forced to tell him that vou did
not love him, that you were marrying him out of pity.
I must have made him set you free, and then his life's
happiness would have been gone. That is why I
prayed to God that he might die, that I should not
need to disturb the peace of his heart. And I have
rejoiced over his sunken cheeks, exulted over his
rattling breath, trembled lest Death should not
complete his work."

She stopped speaking, and waited for an answer;
but Anna Stjarnhok could not speak, she was still
listening to the many voices in her soul.

Then the mother cried out in despair : —

" Oh, how happy are they who may mourn for
their dead, they who may weep streams of tears ! 1

DEATH, THE DELIVERER 373

must stand with dry eyes by my son's grave, I must
rejoice over his death ! How unhappy I am ! "

Then Anna Stjarnhok pressed her hands against
her breast. She remembered that winter night when
she had sworn by her love to be these poor people's
support and comfort, and she trembled. Had it all
been in vain; was not her sacrifice one of those
which God accepts? Should it all be turned to a
curse?

But if she sacrificed everything would not God
then give His blessing to the work, and let her bring
happiness, be a support, a help, to these people?

" What is required for you to be able to mourn
for your son? " she asked.

" That I shall not believe the testimony of my old
eyes. If I believed that you loved my son, then I
would grieve for his death."

The girl rose up, her eyes burning. She tore off
her veil and spread it over the grave, she tore off her
wreath and laid it beside it.

'* See how I love him ! " she cried. " I give him
my wreath and veil. I consecrate myself to him. I
will never belong to another."

Then the captain's wife rose too. She stood silent
for a while; her whole body was shaking, and her
face twitched, but at last the tears came, — tears of
grief.

374 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER XVI

THE DROUGHT

If dead things love, if earth and water distinguish
friends from enemies, I should like to possess their
love. I should like the green earth not to feel my
step as a heavy burden. I should like her to for-
give that she for my sake is wounded by plough and
harrow, and willingly to open for my dead body.
And I should like the waves, whose shining mirror
is broken by my oars, to have the same patience
with me as a mother has with an eager child when
it climbs up on her knee, careless of the uncrumpled
silk of her dress.

The spirit of life still dwells in dead things. Have
you not seen it? When strife and hate fill the earth,
dead things must suffer too. Then the waves are
wild and ravenous ; then the fields are niggardly as a
miser. But woe to him for whose sake the woods
sigh and the mountains weep.

Memorable was the year when the pensioners
were in power. If one could tell of everything
which happened that year to the people by Lofven's
shores a world would be surprised. For then old love
wakened, then new was kindled. Old hate blazed
up, and long cherished revenge seized its prey.

From Ekeby this restless infection went forth ; it
spread first through the manors and estates, and
drove men to ruin and to crime. It ran from village

THE DROUGHT

375

to village, from cottage to cottage. Everywhere
hearts became wild, and brains confused. Never did
the dance whirl so merrily at the cross-roads; never
was the beer-barrel so quickly emptied ; never was so
much grain turned into brandy. Never were there so
many balls ; never was the way shorter front the
angry word to the knife-thrust. But the uneasiness
was not only among men. It spread through all liv-
ing things. Never had wolf and bear ravaged so
fiercely; never had fox and owl howled so terribly,
and plundered so boldly; never did the sheep go so
often astray in the wood ; never did so much sickness
rage among the cattle.

He who will see how everything hangs together
must leave the towns and live in a lonely hut at the
edge of the forest; then he will iearn to notice
nature's every sign and to understand how the dead
things depend on the living. He will see that when
there is restlessness on the earth, the peace of the dead
things is disturbed. The people know it. It is in
such times that the wood-nymph puts out the char-
coal-kiln, the sea-nymph breaks the boat to pieces,
the river-sprite sends illness, the goblin starves the
cow. And it was so that year. Never had the
spring freshets done so much damage. The mill and
smithy at Ekeby were not the only offerings. Never
had the lightning laid waste so much already before
midsummer — after midsummer came the drought.

As long as the long days lasted, no rain came.
From the middle of June till the beginning of Sep-
tember, the country was bathed in continual sunshine.

The rain refused to fall, the earth to nourish, the
winds to blow. Sunshine only streamed down on

; earth. The grass was not yet high and could

376 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

not grow; the rye was without nourishment, just
when it should have collected food in its ears; the
wheat, from which most of the bread was baked,
never came up more than a few inches; the late
sowed turnips never sprouted ; not even the potatoes
could draw sustenance from that petrified earth.

At such times they begin to be frightened far away
in the forest huts, and from the mountains the terror
comes down to the calmer people on the plain.

" There is some one whom God's hand is seeking 1 "
say the people.

And each one beats his breast and says : " Is it I ?
Is it from horror of me that the rain holds back?
Is it in wrath against me that the stern earth dries
up and hardens ? — and the perpetual sunshine, — is it
to heap coals of fire on my head ? Or if it is not I,
who is it whom God's hand is seeking?"

It was a Sunday in August. The service was over.
The people wandered in groups along the sunny
roads. On all sides they saw burned woods and
ruined crops. There had been many forest fires;
and what they had spared, insects had taken.

The gloomy people did not lack for subjects of
conversation. There were many who could tell how
hard it had been in the years of famine of eighteen
hundred and eight and nine, and in the cold winter
of eighteen hundred and twelve, when the sparrows
froze to death. They knew how to make bread out
of bark, and how the cows could be taught to eat
moss.

There was one woman who had tried a new kind
of bread of cranberries and corn-meal. She had a
sample with her, and let the people taste it. She
was proud of her invention.

THE DROUGHT 377

But over them all floated the same question. It
stared from every eye, was whispered by every lip :
" Who is it, O Lord, whom Thy hand seeks?"

A man in the gloomy crowd which had gone west-
ward, and struggled up Broby hill, stopped a minute
before the path which ♦sd up to the house of the
mean Broby clergyman. He picked up a dry stick
from the ground and threw it upon the path.

" Dry as that stick have the prayers been which he
has given our Lord," said the man.

He who walked next to him also stopped. He
took up a dry branch and threw it where the stick
had fallen.

** That is the proper offering to that priest," he said.

The third in the crowd followed the others'
example.

" He has been like the drought ; sticks and straw
are all that he has let us keep."

The fourth said : " We give him back what he has
given us."

And the fifth : " For a perpetual disgrace I throw
this to him. May he dry up and wither away like
this branch ! "

" Dry food to the dry priest," said the sixth.

The people who came after see what they are do-
ing and hear what they say. Now they get the
answer to their long questioning.

** Give him what belongs to him ! He has brought
the drought on us."

And each one stops, each one says his word and
throws his branch before he goes on.

In the corner by the path there soon lies a pile of
sticks and straw, — a pile of shame for the Broby
clergyman.

378 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERLING

That was their only revenge. No one lifted his
hand against the clergyman or said an angry word to
him. Desperate hearts cast off part of their burden
by throwing a dry branch on the pile. They did
not revenge themselves. They only pointed out the
guilty one to the God of retribution.

** If we have not worshipped you rightly, it is that
man's fault. Be pitiful, Lord, and let him alone
suffer! We mark him with shame and dishonor.
We are not with him."

It soon became the custom for every one who
passed the vicarage to throw a dry branch on the
pile of shame.

The old miser soon noticed the pile by the road-
side. He had it carried away, — some said that he
heated his stove with it The next day a new pile
had collected on the same spot, and as soon as he
had that taken away a new one was begun.

The dry branches lay there and said: "Shame,
shame to the Broby clergyman ! "

Soon the people's meaning became clear to him.
He understood that they pointed to him as the ori-
gin of their misfortune. It was in wrath at him God
let the earth languish. He tried to laugh at them
and their branches ; but when it had gone on a week,
he laughed no more. Oh, what childishness ! How
can those dry sticks injure him? He understood
that the hate of years sought an opportunity of ex-
pressing itself What of that? — he was not used to
love. xi

For all this he did not become more gentle. He
had perhaps wished to improve after the old lady
had visited him ; now he could not He would not
be forced to it.

THE DROUGHT 379

But gradually the pile grew too strong for him.
He thought of it continually, and the feeling which
every one cherished took root also in him. He
watched the pile, counted the branches which had
been added each day. The thought of it encroached
upon all other thoughts. The pile was destroying
him.

Every day he felt more and more the people were
right. He grew thin and very old in a couple of
weeks. He suffered from remorse and indisposition.
But it was as if everything depended on that pile.
It was as if his remorse would grow silent, and the
weight of years be lifted off him, if only the pile
would stop growing.

Finally he sat there the whole day and watched ;
but the people were without mercy. At night there
were always new branches thrown on.

One day Gosta Berling passed along the road.
The Broby clergyman sat at the roadside, old and
haggard. He sat and picked out the dry sticks and
laid them together in rows and piles, playing with
them as if he were a child again. Gosta was grieved
at his misery.

"What are you doing, pastor?" he says, and leaps
out of the carriage.

"Oh, I am sitting here and picking. I am not
doing anything."

" You had better go home, and not sit here in the
dust." ^

" It is best that I sit here."

Then Gosta Berling sits down beside him.

" It is not so easy to be a priest," he says after a
while.

38o THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

" It is all very well down here where there are
people," answers the clergyman. "It is worse up
there."

Gosta understands what he means. He knows
those parishes in Northern Varmland where some-
times there is not even a house for the clergyman,
where there are not more than a couple of people in
ten miles of country, where the clergyman is the
only educated man. The Broby minister had been
in such a parish for over twenty years.

" That is where we are sent when we are young,"
says Gosta. " It is impossible to hold out with such
a life; and so one is ruined forever. There are
many who have gone under up there."

" Yes," says the Broby clergyman ; " a man is
destroyed by loneliness."

" A man comes," says Gosta, " eager and ardent,
exhorts and admonishes, and thinks that all will be
well, that the people will soon turn to better ways."

" Yes, yes."

"But soon he sees that words do not help.
Poverty stands in the way. Poverty prevents all
improvement."

" Poverty," repeats the clergyman, — " poverty has
ruined my life."

" The young minister comes up there," continues
Gosta, "poor as all the others. He says to the
drunkard : Stop drinking ! "

" Then the drunkard answers," interrupts the clergy-
man: "Give me something which is better than
brandy ! Brandy is furs in winter, coolness in sum-
mer. Brandy is a warm house and a soft bed. Give
me those, and I will drink no more."

" And then," resumes Gosta, " the minister says

THE DROUGHT 38 1

to the thief: You shall not steal; and to the cruel
husband : You shall not beat your wife ; and to the
superstitious: You shall believe in God and not in
devils and goblins. But the thief answers : Give me
bread; and the cruel husband says: Make us rich,
and we will not quarrel ; and the superstitious say :
Teach us better. But who can help them without
money?"

" It is true, true every word," cried the clergyman.
" They believed in God, but more in the devil, and
most in the mountain goblin. The crops were all
turned into the still. There seemed to be no end to
the misery. In most of the gray cottages there was
want. Hidden sorrow made the women's tongues
bitter. Discomfort drove their husbands to drink.
They could not look after their fields or their cattle.
They made a fool of their minister. What could a
man do with them? They did not understand what
I said to them from the pulpit. They did not believe
what I wanted to teach them. And no one to con-
sult, no one who could help me to keep up my
courage."

" There are those who have stood out," says Gosta.
"God's grace has been so great to some that they
have not returned from such a life broken men.
They have had strength ; they have borne the loneli-
ness, the poverty, the hopelessness. They have done
what little good they could and have not despaired.
Such men have always been and still are. I greet
them as heroes. I will honor them as long as I live.
I was not able to stand out."

" I could not," added the clergyman.

"The minister up there thinks," says Gosta, mus-
ingly, " that he will be a rich man, an exceedingly

3S3 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

nch man. No one who is poor can struggle against
ei-iL And so he begins to hoard."

*• If he had not hoarded he would have drunk,"
answers the old man ; " he sees so much misery."

•* Or he would become dull and lazy, and lose all
strength. It is dangerous for him who is not born
there to come thither."

•• He has to harden himself to hoard. He pretends
at first; then it becomes a habit"

" He has to be hard both to himself and to others,"
continues Gosta ; ** it is hard to amass. He must
endure hate and scorn ; he must go cold and hungry
and harden his heart : it almost seems as if he had
foj^tten why he began to hoard."

The Broby clergyman looked startled at him. He
wondered if Gosta sat there and made a fool of him.
But Gosta was only eager and earnest It was as if
he was speaking of his own life.

" It was so with me," says the old man quietly.

"But God watches over him," interrupts Gosta.
" He wakes in him the thoughts of his youth when
he has amassed enough. He gives the minister a sign
when His people need him."

" But if the minister does not obey the sign, Gosta
Berling?"

" He cannot withstand it," says Gosta, and smiles.
" He is so moved by the thought of the warm
cottages which he will help the poor to build."

The clergyman looks down on the little heaps he
had raised from the sticks of the pile of shame. The
longer he talks with Gosta, the more he is convinced
that the latter is right. He had always had the
thought of doing good some day, when he had
enough, — of course he had had that thought

THE DROUGHT 383

" Why does he never build the cottages ? " he asks
shyly.

*' He IS ashamed. Many would think that he did
what he always had meant to do through fear of the
people."

" He cannot bear to be forced, is that it? "

" He can however do much good secretly. Much
help is needed this year. He can find some one who
will dispense his gifts. I understand what it all
means," cries Gosta, and his eyes shone. " Thousands
shall get bread this year from one whom they load
with curses."

" It shall be so, Gosta."

A feeling of transport came over the two who had
so failed in the vocation they had chosen. The desire
of their youthful days to serve God and man filled
them. They gloated over the good deeds they would
do. Gosta would help the minister.

" We will get bread to begin with," says the clergy-
man.

" We will get teachers. We will have a surveyor
come, and divide up the land. Then the people shall
learn how to till their fields and tend their cattle."

" We will build roads and open new districts."

" We will make locks at the falls at Berg, so that
there will be an open way between Lofven and
Vaner."

"All the riches of the forest will be of double
blessing when the way to the sea is opened."

** Your head shall be weighed down by blessings,"
cries Gosta.

The clergyman looks up. They read in one an-
other's eyes the same burning enthusiasm.

But at the same moment the eyes of both fall on
the pile of shame.

384 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

" Gosta," says the old man, " all that needs a
young man's strength, but I am dying. You see
what is killing me."

" Get rid of it ! "

" How, Gosta Berling? "

Gosta moves close up to him and looks sharply
into his eyes. "Pray to God for rain," he says.
"You are going to preach next Sunday. Pray for
rain."

The old clergyman sinks down in terror.

" If you are in earnest, if you are not he who has
brought the drought to the land, if you had meant
to serve the Most High with your hardness, pray
God for rain. That shall be the token ; by that we
shall know if God wishes what we wish."

When Gosta drove down Broby hill, he was as-
tonished at himself and at the enthusiasm which had
taken hold of him. But it could be a beautiful life —
yes, but not for him. Up there they would have

none of his services.

*

In the Broby church the sermon was over and the
usual prayers read. The minister was just going
to step down from the pulpit, but he hesitated, finally
he fell on his knees and prayed for rain.

He prayed as a desperate man prays, with few
words, without coherency.

" If it is my sin which has called down Thy wrath,
let me alone suffer ! If there is any pity in Thee,
Thou God of mercy, let it rain ! Take the shame
from me ! Let it rain in answer to my prayer ! Let
the rain fall on the fields of the poor ! Give Thy
people bread ! "

The day was hot; the sultriness was intolerable.

THE DROUGHT 385

The congregation sat as if in a torpor ; but at these
broken words, this hoarse despair, every one had
awakened.

" If there is a way of expiation for me, give rain — "

He stopped speaking. The doors stood open.
There came a violent gust of wind. It rushed along
the ground, whirled into the church, in a cloud of
dust, full of sticks and straw. The clergyman could
not continue; he staggered down from the pulpit

The people trembled. Could that be an answer?

But the gust was only the forerunner of the thunder-
storm. It came rushing with an unheard-of violence.
When the psalm was sung, and the clergyman stood
by the altar, the lightning was already flashing, and
the thunder crashing, drowning the sound of his
voice. As the sexton struck up the final march, the
first drops were already pattering against the green
window-panes, and the people hurried out to see the
rain. But they were not content with that: some
wept, others laughed, while they let the torrents
stream over them. Ah, how great had been their
need I How unhappy they had been ! But God is
good ! God let it rain. What joy, what joy !

The Broby clergyman was the only one who did
not come out into the rain. He lay on his knees
before the altar and did not rise. The joy had been
too violent for him. He died of happiness.

25

386 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER XVII

THE child's mother

The child was born in a peasant's house east of the
Klar river. The child's mother had come seeking
employment one day in early June.

She had been unfortunate, she had said to the master
and mistress, and her mother had been so hard to her
that she had had to run away from home. She called
herself Elizabeth Karlsdotter; but she would not
say from whence she came, for then perhaps they
would tell her parents that she was there,, and if they
should find her, she would be tortured to death, she
knew it. She asked for no pay, only food and a
roof over her head. She could work, weave or
spin, and take care of the cows, — whatever they
wanted. If they wished, she could also pay for
herself.

She had been clever enough to come to the farm-
house bare-foot, with her shoes under her arm ; she
had coarse hands; she spoke the country dialect;
and she wore a peasant woman's clothes. She was
believed.

The master thought she looked sickly, and did not
count much on her fitness for work. But somewhere
the poor thing must be. And so she was allowed
to stop.

There was something about her which made every
one on the farm kind to her. She had come to

THE CHILD'S MOTHER 387

a good place. The people were serious and reticent.
Her mistress liked her ; when she discovered that she
could weave, they borrowed a loom from the vicar-
age, and the child's mother worked at it the whole
summer.

It never occurred to any one that she needed to
be spared ; she had to work like a peasant girl the
whole time. She liked too to have much work.
She was not unhappy. Life among the peasants
pleased her, although she lacked all her accustomed
conveniences. But everything was taken so simply
and quietly there. Every one's thoughts were on
his or her work; the days passed so uniform and
monotonous that one mistook the day and thought
it was the middle of the week when Sunday came.

One day at the end of August there had been
haste with the oat crop, and the child's mother had
gone out with the others to bind the sheaves. She
had strained herself, and the child had been born,
but too soon. She had expected it in October.

Now the farmer's wife stood with the child in
the living room to warm it by the fire, for the poor
little thing was shivering in the August heat. The
child's mother lay in a room beyond and listened
to what they said of the little one. She could
imagine how the men and maids came up and
looked at him.

" Such a poor little thing," they all said, and then
followed always, without fail : —

" Poor little thing, with no father ! "

They did not complain of the child's crying : they
thought a child needed to cry ; and, when everything
was considered, the child was strong for its age ; had
it but a father, all would have been well.

388 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

The mother lay and listened and wondered. The
matter suddenly seemed to her incredibly important.
How would he get through life, the poor little thing?

She had made her plans before. She would re*
main at the farm-house the first year. Then she
would hire a room and earn her bread at the loom.
She meant to earn enough to feed and clothe the
child. Her husband could continue to believe that
she was unworthy. She had thought that the child
perhaps would be a better man if she alone brought
it up, than if a stupid and conceited father should
guide it.

But now, since the child was born, she could not
see the matter in the same way. Now she thought
that she had been selfish. "The child must have
a father," she said to herself.

If he had not been such a pitiful little thing, if he
had been able to eat and sleep like other children, if
his head had not always sunk down on one shoulder,
and if he had not so nearly died when the attack of
cramp came, it would not have been so important.

It was not so easy to decide, but decide she must
immediately. The child was three days old, and the
peasants in Varmland seldom wait longer to have the
child baptized. Under what name should the baby
be entered in the church-register, and what would the
clergyman want to know about the child's mother?

It was an injustice to the child to let him be en-
tered as fatherless. If he should be a weak and
sickly man, how could she take the responsibility of
depriving him of the advantages of birth and riches?

The child's mother had noticed that there is gen-
erally great joy and excitement when a child comes
into the world. Now it seemed to her that it must

THE CHILD'S MOTHER 389

be hard for this baby to live, whom every one pitied.
She wanted to see him sleeping on silk and lace, as
it behoves a count's son. She wanted to see him
encompassed with joy and pride.

The child's mother began to think that she had
done its father too great an injustice. Had she the
right to keep him for herself? That she could not
have. Such a precious little thing, whose worth it is
not in the power of man to calculate, should she take
that for her own? That would not be honest.

But she did not wish to go back to her husband.
She feared that it would be her death. But the
child was in greater danger than she. He might die
any minute, and he was not baptized.

That which had driven her from her home, the
grievous sin which had dwelt in her heart, was gone.
She had now no love for any other than the child.

It was not too heavy a duty to try to get him his
right place in life.

The child's mother had the farmer and his wife
called and told them everything. The husband jour-
neyed to Borg to tell Count Dohna that his countess
was alive, and that there was a child.

The peasant came home late in the evening ; he had
not met the count, for he had gone away, but he had
been to the minister at Svartsjo, and talked with him
of the matter.

Then the countess heard that her marriage had
been declared invalid, and that she no longer had a
husband.

The minister wrote a friendly letter to her, and
offered her a home in his house.

A letter from her own father to Count Henrik,
which must have reached Borg a few days after her

390 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

flight, was also sent to her. It was just that letter m
which the old man had begged the count to hasten
to make his marriage legal, which had indicated to
the count the easiest way to be rid of his wife.

It is easy to imagine that the child's mother was
seized with anger more than sorrow, when she heard
the peasant's story.

She lay awake the whole night. The child must
have a father, she thought over and over again.

The next morning the peasant had to drive to
Ekeby for her, and go for Gosta Berling.

Gosta asked the silent man many questions, but
could find out nothing. Yes, the countess had been
in his house the whole summer. She had been well
and had worked. Now a child was born. The child
was weak; but the mother would soon be strong
again.

Gc5sta asked if the countess knew that the mar-
riage had been annulled.

Yes, she knew it now. She had heard it yesterday.
And as long as the drive lasted Gosta had alter-
nately fever and chills.

What did she want of him ? Why did she send for
him?

He thought of the life that summer on Lofven's
shores. They had let the days go by with jests and
laughter and pleasure parties, while she had worked
and suffered.

He had never thought of the possibility of ever
seeing her again. Ah, if he had dared to hope ! He
would have then come into her presence a better
man. What had he now to look back on but the
usual follies !
About eight o'clock in the evening he arrived, and

THE CHILD'S MOTHER

391

was immediately taken to the child's mother. It
was dark in the room. He could scarcely see her
where she lay. The farmer and his wife came in
also.

Now you must know that she whose white face
shone in the dimness was always the noblest and the
purest he knew, the most beautiful soul which had
ever arrayed itself in earthly dust. When he once
again felt the bliss of being near her, he longed to
throw himself on his knees and thank her for having
again appeared to him; but he was so overpowered
by emotion that he could neither speak nor act.

^" Dear Countess Elizabeth I " he only cried.
"Good-evening, Gosta."
She gave him her hand, which seemed once more to
nave become soft and transparent. She lay silent,
while he struggled with his emotion.

The child's mother was not shaken by any violently
raging feelings when she saw Gosta. It surprised her
only that he seemed to consider her of chief impor-
tance, when he ought to understand that it now only
concerned the child.

"Gosta," she said gently, "you must help me now,
as you once promised. You know that my husband
has abandoned me, so that my child has no father."

" Yes, countess ; but that can certainly be changed.
Now that there is a child, the count can be forced to
make the marriage legal. You may be certain that I
shall help you ! "

The countess smiled. "Do you think that I will
force myself upon Count Dohna?"

The blood surged up to Gosta's head. What did she
wish then? What did she want of him?

" Come here, Gosta," she said, and again stretched

392 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

out her hand. " You must not be angry with me for
what I am going to say ; but I thought that you who
are — who are — "

" A dismissed priest, a drunkard, a pensioner, Ebba
Dohna's murderer ; I know the whole list — "

" Are you already angry, Gosta?"

"I would rather that you did not say anything

more."

But the child's mother continued : —

" There are many, Gosta, who would have liked to
be your wife out of love ; but it is not so with me. If
I loved you I should not dare to speak as I am speak-
ing now. For myself I would never ask such a thing,
Gosta ; but do you see, I can do it for the sake of the
child. You must understand what I mean to beg of
you. Of course it is a great degradation for you,
since I am an unmarried woman who has a child. I did
not think that you would be willing to do it because
you are worse than others ; although, yes, I did think
of that too. But first I thought that you could be
willing, because you are kind, Gosta, because you are
a hero and can sacrifice yourself But it is perhaps
too much to ask. Perhaps such a thing would be im-
possible for a nian. If you despise me too much, if
it is too loathsome for you to give your name to
another man's child, say so ! I shall not be angry.
I understand that it is too much to ask; but the
child is sick, Gosta. It is cruel at his baptism not
to be able to give the name of his mother's husband."

He, hearing her, experienced the same feeling as
when that spring day he had put her on land and left
her to her fate. Now he had to help her to ruin her
life, her whole future life. He who loved her had to
do it.

THE CHILD'S MOTHER 393

" I will do everything you wish, countess," he said.

The next day he spoke to the dean at Bro, for there
the banns were to be called.

The good old dean was much moved by his story,
and promised to take all the responsibility of giving
her away.

** Yes," he said, " you must help her, Gosta, other-
wise she might become insane. She thinks that she
has injured the child by depriving it of its position
in life. She has a most sensitive conscience, that
woman."

'* But I know that I shall make her unhappy," cried
Gosta.

"That you must not do, Gosta. You must be a
sensible man now, with wife and child to care for."

The dean had to journey down to Svartsjo and
speak to both the minister there and the judge.
The end of it all was that the next Sunday, the first
of September, the banns were called in Svartsjo
between Gosta Berling and Elizabeth von Thurn.

Then the child's mother was carried with the great-
est care to Ekeby, and there the child was baptized.

The dean talked to her, and told her that she
could still recall her decision to marry such a man
as Gosta Berling. She ought to first write to her
father.

" I cannot repent," she said ; " think if my child
should die before it had a father."

When the banns had been thrice asked, the child's
mother had been well and up several days. In the
afternoon the dean came to Ekeby and married her to
Gosta Berling. But no one thought of it as a wedding.
No guests were invited. They only gave the child a
father, nothing more.

394 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

The child's mother shpne with a quiet joy, as if she
had attained a great end in life. The bridegroom was
in despair. He thought how she had thrown away
her life by a marriage with him. He saw with dismay
how he scarcely existed for her. All her thoughts
were with her child.

A few days after the father and mother were mourn-
ing. The child had died.

Many thought that the child's mother did not mourn
so violently nor so deeply as they had expected ; she
had a look of triumph. It was as if she rejoiced that
she had thrown away her life for the sake of the
child. When he joined the angels, he would still
remember that a mother on earth had loved him.

All this happened quietly and unnoticed. When
the banns were published for Gosta Berling and
Elizabeth von Thurn in the Svartsjo church, most of
the congregation did not even know who the bride
was. The clergyman and the gentry who knew the
story said little about it. It was as if they were afraid
that some one who had lost faith in the power of con-
science should wrongly interpret the young woman's
action. They were so afraid, so afraid lest some one
should come and say : '* See now, she could not con-
quer her love for Gosta ; she has married him under
a plausible pretext." Ah, the old people were always
so careful of that young woman ! Never could they
bear to hear anything evil of her. They would
scarcely acknowledge that she had sinned. They
would not agree that any fault stained that soul which
was so afraid of evil.

Another great event happened just then, which also
caused Gosta's marriage to be little discussed.

THE ^CHILD'S MOTHER 395

Major Samzelius had met with an accident. He
had become more and more strange and misanthropic.
His chief intercourse was with animals, and he had
collected a small menagerie at Sjo.

He was dangerous too; for he always carried a
loaded gun, and shot it off time after time without
paying much attention to his aim. One day he
was bitten by a tame bear which he had shot with-
out intending it. The wounded animal threw itself
on him, and succeeded in giving him a terrible bite in
the arm. The beast broke away and took refuge in
the forest.

The major was put to bed and died of the wound,
but not till just before Christmas. Had his wife known
that he lay ill, she could have resumed her sway over
Ekeby. But the pensioners knew that she would not
come before their year was out.

396 THE STORY OF GOstA BERLING

CHAPTER XVIII

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

Under the stairs to the gallery in the Svartsjo church
is a lumber-room filled with the grave-diggers' worn-
out shovels, with broken benches, with rejected tin
labels and other rubbish.

There, where the dust lies thickest and seems to
hide it from every human eye, stands a chest, inlaid
with mother-of-pearl in the most perfect mosaic. If
one scrapes the dust away, it seems to shine and
glitter like a mountain-wall in a fairy-tale. The chest
is locked, and the key is in good keeping ; it may
not be used. No mortal man may cast a glance into
that chest. No one knows what is in it. First, when
the nineteenth century has reached its close, may the
key be placed in the lock, the cover be lifted, and the
treasures which it guarded be seen by men.

So has he who owned the chest ordained.

On the brass-plate of the cover stands an inscrip-
tion : " Labor vincit omnia." But another inscrip-
tion would be more appropriate. " Amor vincit
omnia '* ought to stand there. For the chest in the
rubbish room under the gallery stairs is a testimony
of the omnipotence of love.

O Eros, all-conquering god !

Thou, O Love, art indeed eternal ! Old are people
on the earth, but thou hast followed them through
the ages.

AMOR VINCJT OMNIA 397

Where are the gods of the East, the strong heroes
who carried weapons of thunder-bolts, — they who on
the shores of holy rivers took offerings of honey and
milk? They are dead. Dead is Bel, the mighty
warrior, and Thot, the hawk-headed champion. The
glorious ones are dead who rested on the cloud
banks of Olympus ; so too the mighty who dwelt in
the turreted Valhalla. All the old gods are dead ex-
cept Eros, Eros, the all-powerful !

His work is in everything you see. He supports
the race. See him everywhere ! Whither can you
go without finding the print of his foot? What has
your ear perceived, where the humming of his wings
has not been the key-note ? He lives in the hearts of
men and in the sleeping germ. See with trembling
his presence in inanimate things!

What is there which does not long and desire?
What is there which escapes his dominion ? All the
gods of revenge will fall, all the powers of strength
and might. Thou, O Love, art eternal!

Old Uncle Eberhard is sitting at his writing-desk, —
a splendid piece of furniture with a hundred drawers,
with marble top and ornaments of blackened brass.
He works with eagerness and diligence, alone in the
pensioners' wing.

Oh, Eberhard, why do you not wander about wood
and field in these last days of the departing summer
like the other pensioners ? No one, you know, wor-
ships unpunished the goddess of wisdom. Your back
is bent with sixty and some years; the hair which
covers your head is not your own ; the wrinkles crowd
one another on your brow, which arches over hollow
eyes ; and the decay of old age is drawn in the thou-
sand lines about your empty mouth.

398 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Oh, Eberhard, why do you not wander about wocxi
and field? Death parts you just so much the sooner
from your desk, because you have not let life tempt
you from it.

Uncle Eberhard draws a thick stroke under his last
line. From the desk's innumerable drawers he drags
out yellowed, closely scribbled manuscripts, all the
different parts of his great work, — that work which is
to carry on Eberhard Berggren's name through all
time. But just as he has piled up manuscript on
manuscript, and is staring at them in silent rapture,
the door opens, and in walks the young countess.

There she is, the old men's young mistress, — she
whom they wait on and adore more than grandparents
wait on. and adore the first grandson. There she is
whom they had found in poverty and in sickness,
and to whom they had now given all the glory of the
world, just as the king in the fairy tale did to the
beautiful beggar girl he found in the forest. It is for
her that the horn and violin now sound at Ekeby, —
for her everything moves, breathes, works on the
great estate.

She is well again, although still very weak. Time
goes slowly for her alone in the big house, and, as she
knows that the pensioners are away, she wishes to
see what it looks like in the pensioners* wing, that
notorious room.

So she comes softly in and looks up at the white-
washed walls and the yellow striped bed-curtains, but
she is embarrassed when she sees that the room is
not empty.

Uncle Eberhard goes solemnly towards her, and
leads her forward to the great pile of paper.

** Look, countess," he says ; " now my work is ready.

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 399

Now shall what I have written go out into the world.
Now great things are going to happen."

" What is going to happen, Uncle Eberhard ? "

" Oh, countess, it is going to strike like a thunder-
bolt, a bolt which enlightens and kills. Ever since
Moses dragged him out of Sinai's thunder-cloud and
put him on the throne of grace in the innermost
sanctuary of the temple, ever since then he has sat
secure, the old Jehovah ; but now men shall see what
he is: Imagination, emptiness, exhalation, the still-
born child of our own brain. He shall sink into
nothingness," said the old man, and laid his wrinkled
hand on the pile of manuscript. " It stands here ;
and when people read this, they will have to believe.
They will rise up and acknowledge their own stupid-
ity ; they will use crosses for kindling-wood, churches
for storehouses, and clergymen will plough the earth."

" Oh, Uncle Eberhard," says the countess, with a
slight shudder, " are you such a dreadful person? Do
such dreadful things stand there?"

" Dreadful ! " repeated the old man, " it is only the
truth. But we are like little boys who hide their
faces in a woman's skirt as soon as they meet a
stranger : we have accustomed ourselves to hide from
the truth, from the eternal stranger. But now he
shall come and dwell among us, now he shall be
known by all."

"By all?"

" Not only by philosophers, but by everybody ; do
you understand, countess, by everybody."

" And so Jehovah shall die ? "

" He and all angels, all saints, all devils, all lies."

" Who shall then rule the world ? "

" Do you believe that any one has ruled it before?

400 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Do you believe in that Providence which looks after
sparrows and the hair of your head? No one has
ruled it, no one shall rule it."

" But we, we people, what will we become — "

" The same which we have been — dust. That
which is burned out can burn no longer ; it is dead.
We about whom the fire of life flickers are only fuel.
Life's sparks fly from one to another. We are
lighted, flame up, and die out. That is life.'

" Oh, Eberhard, is there no life of the spirit?

" None."

" No life beyond the grave? "

" None."

" No good, no evil, no aim, no hope?'^

" None."

The young woman walks over to the window. She
looks out at the autumn's yellowed leaves, at dahlias
and asters which hang their heavy heads on broken
stalks. She sees the Lofven's black waves, the au-
tumn's dark storm-clouds, and for a moment she
inclines towards repudiation.

" Uncle Eberhard," she says, " how ugly and gray
the world is ; how profitless everything is ! I should
like to lie down and die."

But then she hears a murmur in her soul. The
vigor of life and its strong emotions cry out for the
happiness of living.

" Is there nothing," she breaks out, " which can
give life beauty, since you have taken from me God
and immortality? "

" Work," answers the old man.

But she looks out again, and a feeling of scorn for
that poor wisdom creeps over her. The unfathomable
rises before her ; she feels the spirit dwelling in every-

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 401

thing; she is sensible of the power which lies bound
in seemingly dead material, but which can develop
into a thousand forms of shifting life. Dizzily she
seeks for a name for the presence of God's spirit in
nature.

"Oh, Eberhard," she says, "what is work? Is
it a god? Has it any meaning in itself? Name
another ! "

" I know no other," answered the old man.

Then she finds the name which she is seeking, — a
poor, often sullied name.

" Uncle Eberhard, why do you not speak of love? "

A smile glides over the empty mouth where the
thousand wrinkles cross.

" Here," says the philosopher, and strikes the heavy
packet with his clenched hand, "here all the gods
are slain, and I have not forgotten Eros. What is
love but a longing of the flesh? In what does he
stand higher than the other requirements of the
body? Make hunger a god ! Make fatigue a god !
They are just as worthy. Let there be an end to
such absurdities ! Let the truth live ! "

The young countess sinks her head. It is not so,
all that is not true ; but she cannot contest it.

" Your words have wounded my soul," she says ;
" but still I do not believe you. The gods of revenge
and violence you may be able to kill, no others."

But the old man takes her hand, lays it on the
book, and swears in the fanaticism of unbelief

" When you have read this, you must believe."

"May it never come before my eyes," she says,
" for if I believe that, I cannot live."

And she goes sadly from the philosopher. But he
sits for a long time and thinks, when she has gone.

26

402 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING.

Those old manuscripts, scribbled over with heath-
enish confessions, have not yet been tested before the
world. Uncle Eberhard's name has not yet reached
the heights of fame.

His great work lies hidden in a chest in the lumber-
room under the gallery stairs in the Svartsjo church ;
it shall first see the light of day at the end of the
century.

But why has he done this? Was he afraid not to
have proved his point? Did he fear persecutions?
You little know Uncle Eberhard.

Understand it now ; he has loved the truth, not his
own glory. So he has sacrificed the latter, not the
former, in order that a deeply loved child might die
in the belief in that she has most cared for.

O Love, thou art indeed eternal !

THE BROOM-GIRL 403

CHAPTER XIX

THE BROOM-GIRL

No one knows the place in the lee of the mountain
where the pines grow thickest and deep layers of
moss cover the ground. How should any one know
it? No man's foot has ever trodden it before; no
man's tongue has given it a name. No path leads
to that hidden spot. It is the most solitary tract in
the forest, and now thousands of people are looking
for it.

What an endless procession of seekers! They
would fill the Bro church, — not only Bro, but Lof-
viks and Svartsjo.

All who live near the road rush out and ask, " Has
anything happened } Is the enemy upon us .^ Where
are you going ? Tell us where. "

"We are searching," they answer. "We have
been searching for two days. We shall go on to-
day; but afterwards we can do no more. We are
going to look through the Bjome wood and the
firclad heights west of Ekeby.

It was from NygSrd, a poor district far away
among the eastern mountains, the procession had
first started. The beautiful girl with the heavy,
black hair and the red cheeks had disappeared a
week before. The broom-girl, to whom Gosta Ber-
ling had wished to engage himself, had been lost in
the great forests. No one had seen her for a week.

404 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

So the people started from Nygard to search
through the wood. And everybody they met joined
in the search.

Sometimes one of the new-comers asks, —

"You men from Nygard, how has it all happened?
Why do you let that beautiful girl go alone in
strange paths? The forest is deep, and God has
taken away her reason."

"No one disturbs her," they answer; "she dis-
turbs no one. She goes as safely as a child. Who
is safer than one God himself must care for t She
has always come back before."

So have the searching crowd gone through the
eastern woods, which shut in Nygard from the plain.
Now on the third day it passes by the Bro church
towards the woods west of Ekeby.

But wherever they go, a storm of wondering rages ;
constantly a man from the crowd has to stop to
answer questions : " What do you want ? What are
you looking for ? "

"We are looking for the blue-eyed, dark-haired
girl. She has laid herself down to die in the forest.
She has been gone a week."

"Why has she laid herself down to die in the
forest? Was she hungry? Was she unhappy?"

" She has not suffered want, but she had a misfor-
tune last spring. She has seen that mad priest,
Gosta Berling, and loved him for many years. She
knew no better. God had taken away her wits. "

" Last spring the misfortime happened, — before
that, he had never looked at her. Then he said to
her that she should be his sweetheart. It was only
in jest ; he let her go again, but she could not be
consoled. She kept coming to Ekeby. She went

THE BROOM-GIRL 405

after him wherever he went. He wearied of her.
When she was there last, they set their dogs on her.
Since then no one has seen her."

To the rescue, to the rescue! A human life is
concerned! A human being has laid herself down
to die in the wood! Perhaps she is already dead.
Perhaps, too, she is still wandering there without
finding the right way. The forest is wide, and her
reason is with God.

Come everybody, men and women and children!
Who can dare to stay at home ? Who knows if God
does not intend to use just him } Come all of you,
that your soul may not some day wander helpless in
dry places, seek rest and find none! Come! God
has taken her reason, and the forest is wide.

It is wonderful to see people unite for some great
object. But it is not hunger, nor the fear of God,
nor war which has driven these out. Their trouble
is without profit, their striving without reward ; they
are only going to find a fool. So many steps, so
much anxiety, so many prayers it all costs, and yet
it will only be rewarded by the recovery of a poor,
misguided girl, whose reason is with God.

Those anxious searchers fill the highway. With
earnest eyes they gauge the forest ; they go forward
sadly, for they know that they are more probably
searching for the dead than the living.

Ah, that black thing at the foot of the cliff, it is
not an ant-hill after all, but a fallen tree. Praised
be Heaven, only a fallen tree! But they cannot
see distinctly, the pines grow so thick.

It is the third day of the search ; they are used to
the work. They search under the sloping rock, on
which the foot can slide, under fallen trecB, where

406 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

arm or leg easily could have been broken, under the
thick growing pines' branches, trailing over soft
moss, inviting to rest.

The bear's den, the fox's hole, the badger's deep
home, the red cranberry slope, the silver fir, the
mountain, which the forest fire laid waste a month
ago, the stone which the giant threw, — all that have
they found, but not the place under the rock where
the black thing is lying. No one has been there to
see if it is an ant-hill, or a tree-trunk, or a human
being. Alas! it is indeed a human being, but no
one has been there to see her.

The evening sun is shining on the other side of
the wood, but the young woman is not found. What
should they do now? Should they search through
the wood once more } The wood is dangerous in the
dark; there are bottomless bogs and deep clefts.
And what could they, who had found nothing when
the sun was shining, find when it was gone }

Let us go to Ekeby ! " cries one in the crowd.

Let us go to Ekeby ! " they all cry together.

Let us ask those pensioners why they let loose
the dogs on one whose reason God had taken, why
they drove a fool to despair. Our poor, hungry
children weep; our clothes are torn; the potatoes
rot in the ground ; our horses are running loose ; our
cows get no care ; we are nearly dead with fatigue
— and the fault is theirs. Let us go to Ekeby and
ask about this.

" During this cursed year we have had to suffer
everything. The winter will bring us starvation.
Whom does God's hand seek.^ It was not the Broby
clergyman. His prayers could reach God's ear.
Who, then, if not these pensioners } Let us go to
Ekeby !

THE BROOM-GIRL

407

"They have ruined the estate, they have driven
the major's wife to beg on the highway. It is their
fault that we have no work. The famine is their
doing. Let us go to Ekeby!"

So the dark, embittered men crowd down to
Ekeby; hungry women with weeping children in
their arms follow them; and last come the cripples
and the old men. And the bitterness spreads like
an ever-increasing storm from the old men to the
women, from the women to the strong men at the
head of the train.

It is the autumn-flood which is coming. Pen-
sioners, do you remember the spring-flood?

A cottager who is ploughing in a pasture at the
edge of the wood hears the people's mad cries. He
throws himself on one of his horses and gallops
down to Ekeby.

"Disaster is coming!" he cries; "the bears are
coming, the wolves are coming, the goblins are
coming to take Ekeby! "

He rides about the whole estatCj wild with

Krrc
iei

"All the devils in the forest are let loose!" he
ries. " They are coming to take Ekeby ! Save
yourselves who can ! The devils are coming to burn
the house and to kill the pensioners ! "

And behind him can be heard the din and cries
of the rushing horde. Does it know what it wants,
that storming stream of bitterness.' Does it want
fire, or murder, or plunder?

They are not human beings; they are wild beasts.
Death to Ekeby, death to the pensioners!

Here brandy flows in streams. Here gold lies
liled in the vaults. Here the storehouses are filled

408 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUXG

with grain and meat. Why should the honest starrc,
and the guilty have plenty?

But now your time is out, the measore is ofcr-
flowing, pensioners. In the wood lies one lAo
condemns you; we are her deputies.

The pensioners stand in the big building and see
the people coming. They know already why they
are denounced. For once they are innocent. If
that poor girl has lain down to die in the wood, it is
not because they have set the dogs on her, — that
they have never done, — but because Gosta Berling,
a week ago, was married to Countess Elizabeth.

But what good is it to speak to that mob? They
are tired, they are hungry ; revenge drives them cm,
plunder tempts them. They rush down with wild
cries, and before them rides the cottager, whom fear
has driven mad.

The pensioners have hidden the young countess
in their innermost room. Lowenborg and Eberhard
are to sit there and guard her; the others go out to
meet the people. They are standing on the steps
before the main building, unarmed, smiling, as the
first of the noisy crowd reach the house.

And the people stop before that little group of
quiet men. They had wanted to throw them down
on the ground and trample them under their iron-
shod heels, as the people at the Lund ironworks
used to do with the manager and overseer fifty years
ago; but they had expected closed doors, raised
weapons ; they had expected resistance and fighting.

" Dear friends, '* say the pensioners ; " dear friends,
you are tired and hungry ; let us give you a little
food and first a glass of Ekeby's own home-brewed
brandy. "

THE BROOM-GIRL 409

The people will not listen; they scream and
threaten. But the pensioners are not discouraged.

"Only wait," they say; "only wait a second.
See, Ekeby stands open. The cellar doors are open ;
the store-rooms are open; the dairy is open. Your
women are dropping with fatigue; the children are
crying. Let us get them food first! Then you can
kill us. We will not run away. The attic is full
of apples. Let us go after apples for the children ! "

An hour later the feasting is in full swing at

":eby. The biggest feast the big house has ever
seen is celebrated there that autumn night under the
shining full moon.

Woodpiles have been lighted; the whole estate
flames with bonfires. The people sit about in
groups, enjoying warmth and rest, while all the
good things of the earth are scattered over them.

Resolute men have gone to the farmyard and
taken what was needed. Calves and sheep have
been killed, and even one or two oxen. The animals
have been cut up and roasted in a trice. Those
starving hundreds are devouring the food. Animal
after animal is led out and slaughtered. It looks as
if the whole barn would be emptied in one night.

They had just baked that day. Since the young
Countess Elizabeth had come, there had once more
been industry in-doors. It seemed as if the young
woman never for an instant remembered that she
was Gosta Berling's wife. Neither he nor she acted
as if it were so; but on the other hand she made
herself the mistress of Ekeby. As a good and capa-
ble woman always must do, she tried with burning
to remedy the waste and the sbiftlessness which

4IO THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

reigned in the house. And she was obeyed. The
servants felt a certain pleasure in again having a
mistress over them.

But what did it matter that she had filled the
rafters with bread, that she had made cheeses and
churned and brewed during the month of September?

Out to the people with everything there is, so
that they may not bum down Ekeby and kill the
pensioners! Out with bread, butter, cheese! Out
with the beer-barrels, out with the hams from the
storehouse, out with the brandy-kegs, out with the
apples !

How can all the riches of Ekeby suffice to diminish
the people's anger.? If we get them away before
any dark deed is done, we may be glad.

It is all done for the sake of her who is now
mistress at Ekeby. The pensioners are brave men;
they would have defended themselves if they had
followed their own will. They would rather have
driven away the marauders with a few sharp shots,
but for her, who is gentle and mild and begs for the
people.

As the night advances, the crowds become gentler.
The warmth and the rest and the food and the brandy
assuage their terrible madness. They begin to jest
and laugh.

As it draws towards midnight, it looks as if they
were preparing to leave. The pensioners stop bring-
ing food and wine, drawing corks and pouring ale.
They draw a sigh of relief, in the feeling that the
danger is over.

But just then a light is seen in one of the windows
of the big house. All who see it utter a cry. It is
a young woman who is carrying the light.

THE BROOM-GIRL 411

It had only been for a second. The vision dis-
appeared ; but the people think they have recognized
the woman.

" She had thick black hair and red cheeks ! " they
cry. " She is here ! They have hidden her here ! "

" Oh, pensioners, have you her here ? Have you
got our child, whose reason God has taken, here at
Ekeby t What are you doing with her ? You let us
grieve for her a whole week, search for three whole
days. Away with wine and food! Shame to us,
that we accepted anything from your hands ! First,
out with her ! Then we shall know what we have to
do to you. "

The people are quick; quicker still are the pen-
sioners. They rush in and bar the door. But how
could they resist such a mass } Door after door is
broken down. The pensioners are thrown one side ;
they are unarmed. They are wedged in the crowd,
so that they cannot move. The people will come in
to find the broom-girl.

In the innermost room they find her. No one has
time to see whether she is light or dark. They lift
her up and carry her out. She must not be afraid,
they say. They are here to save her.

But they who now stream from the building are
met by another procession.

In the most lonely spot in the forest the body of a
woman, who had fallen over a high cliff and died in
the fall, no longer rests. A child had found her.
Searchers who had remained in the wood had lifted
her on their shoulders. Here they come.

In death she is more beautiful than in life. Lovely
she lies, with her long, black hair. Fair is the form
since the eternal peace rests upon it.

412 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Lifted high on the men's shoulders, she is carried
through the crowd. With bent heads all do homage
to the majesty of death.

"She has not been dead long," the men whisper.
" She must have wandered in the woods till to-day.
We think that she wanted to escape from us who
were looking for her, and so fell over the cliff."

But if this is the broom-girl, who is the one who
has been carried out of Ekeby }

The procession from the wood meets the proces-
sion from the house. Bonfires are burning all over
the yard. The people can see both the women and
recognize them. The other is the young countess
at Borg.

" Oh ! what is the meaning of this } Is this a new
crime.? Why is the young countess here at Ekeby?
Why have they told us that she was far away or
dead.? In the name of justice, ought we not to
throw ourselves on the pensioners and trample them
to dust under iron-shod heels ? "

Then a ringing voice is heard. Gosta Berling
has climbed up on the balustrade and is speaking.
" Listen to me, you monsters, you devils ! Do you
think there are no guns and powder at Ekeby, you
madmen } Do you think that I have not wanted to
shoot you like mad dogs, if she had not begged for
you.? Oh, if I had known that you would have
touched her, not one of you should have been left
alive !

" Why are you raging here to-night and threaten-
ing us with murder and fire ? What have I to do with
your crazy girls.? Do I know where they run.? I
have been too kind to that one; that is the matter.
I ought to have set the dogs on her, — it would have

THE BROOM-GIRL

413

been better for us both, — but I did not. Nor have
I ever promised to marry her; that I have never
done. Remember that !

" But now I tell you that you must let her whom
you have dragged out of the house go. Let her go,
I say; and may the hands who have touched her
burn in everlasting fire ! Do you not understand that
she is as much above you as heaven is above the
earth ? She is as delicate as you are coarse ; as good

you are bad.

" Now I will tell you who she is. First, she is
angel from heaven, — secondly, she has been
Tied to the count at Borg. But her mother-in-
law tortured her night and day; she had to stand at
the lake and wash clothes like an ordinary maid;
she was beaten and tormented as none of your
women have ever been. Yes, she was almost ready
to throw herself into the river, as we all know,
because they were torturing the life out of her. I
wonder which one of you was there then to save her
life. Not one of you was there; but we pensioners,
we did it.

" And when she afterwards gave birth to a child
off in a farm-house, and the count sent her the
message: ' We were married in a foreign land; we
did not follow law and order. You are not my wife;
I am not your husband. I care nothing for your
child!' — yes, when that was so, and she did not
want the child to stand fatherless in the church
register, then you would have been proud enough if
she had said to one of you: 'Come and marry me!
I must have a father for the child ! ' But she chose
none of you. She took GiJsta Berling, the penniless

iest. who may never speak the word of God. Yes,

414 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

I tell you, peasants, that I have never done anything
harder; for I was so unworthy of her that I did not
dare to look her in the eyes, nor did I dare say no,
for she was in despair.

"And now you may believe what evil you like of
us pensioners ; but to her we have done what good
we could. And it is thanks to her that you have not
all been killed to-night. But now I tell you: let
her go, and go yourselves, or I think the earth will
open and swallow you up. And as you go, pray
God to forgive you for having frightened and grieved
one who is so good and innocent. And now be off!
We have had enough of you ! "

Long before he had finished speaking, those who
had carried out the countess had put her down on
one of the stone steps; and now a big peasant came
thoughtfully up to her and stretched out his great
hand.

" Thank you, and good-night, " he said. " We wish
you no harm, countess. "

After him came another and shook her hand.
" Thanks, and good-night. You must not be angry
with us!"

Gosta sprang down and placed himself beside her.
Then they took his hand too.

So they came forward slowly, one after another,
to bid them good -night before they went. They
were once more subdued; again were they human
beings, as they were when they left their homes that
morning, before hunger and revenge had made them
wild beasts.

They looked in the countess's face, and Gosta saw
that the innocence and gentleness they saw there
brought tears into the eyes of many. There was in

THE BROOM-GIRL 4IS

them all a silent adoration of the noblest they had
ever seen.

They could not all shake her hand. There were
so many, and the young woman was tired and weak.
But they all came and looked at her, and could take
Gosta's hand, — his arm could stand a shaking.

Gosta stood as if in a dream. That evening a
new love sprang up in his heart.

"Oh, my people," he thought, "oh, my people,
how I love you!" He felt how he loved all that
crowd who were disappearing into the darkness with
the dead girl at the head of the procession, with
their coarse clothes and evil-smelling shoes; those
who lived in the gray huts at the edge of the wood ;
those who could not write and often not read ; those
who had never known the fulness and richness of
life, only the struggle for their daily bread.

He loved th^m with a painful, burning tenderness
which forced the tears from his eyes. He did not
know what he wanted to do for them, but he loved
them, each and all, with their faults, their vices and
their weaknesses. Oh, Lord God, if the day could
come when he too should be loved by them!

He awoke from his dream ; his wife laid her hand
on his arm. The people were gone. They were
alone on the steps.

" Oh, Gosta, Gosta, how could you ! "

She put her hands before her face and wept.

" It is true what I said, " he cried. " I have never
promised the broom-girl to marry her. ' Come here
next Friday, and you shall see something funny!'
was all I ever said to her. It is not my fault that
she cared for me."

" Oh, it was not that ; but how could you say to

41 6 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

the people that I was good and pure ? Gosta, Gosta !
Do you not know that I loved you when I had no
right to do it ? I was ashamed, Gosta ! I was ready
to die of shame ! "

And she was shaken by sobs.

He stood and looked at her.

"Oh, my friend, my beloved!" he said quietly.
" How happy you are, who are so good 1 How happy
to have such a beautiful soul ! "

KEVENHULLER 417

CHAPTER XX

KEVENHULLER

In the year 1770, in Germany, the afterwards learned
and accomplished Kevenhiiller was born. He was
the son of a count, and could have lived in lofty
palaces and ridden at the Emperor's side if he had
so wished; but he had not.

He could have liked to fasten windmill sails
on the castle's highest tower, turn the hall into
a locksmith's workshop, and the boudoir into a
watch-maker's. He would have liked to fill the
castle with whirling wheels and working levers.
But when he could not do it he left all the pomp
and apprenticed himself to a watch-maker. There
he learned eyerything there was to learn about cog-
wheels, springs, and pendulums. He learned to make
sun-dials and star-dials, clocks with singing canary-
birds and horn-blowing shepherds, chimes which
filled a whole church-tower with their wonderful
machinery, and watch-works so small that they could
be set in a locket.

When he had got his patent of mastership, he
bound his knapsack on his back, took his stick in
his hand, and wandered from place to place to
study everything that went with rollers and wheels.
Kevenhuller was no ordinary watch-maker; he wished
to be a great inventor and to improve the world.

27

4l8 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

When he had so wandered through many lands, he
turned his steps towards Varmland, to there study
mill-wheels and mining. One beautiful summer
morning it so happened that he was crossing the
market-place of Karlstad. But that same beautiful
summer morning it had pleased the wood-nymph to
extend her walk as far as the town. The noble lady
came also across the market-place from the opposite
direction, and so met Kevenhiiller.

That was a meeting for a watch-maker's appren-
tice. She had shining, green eyes, and a mass of
light hair, which almost reached the ground, and
she was dressed in green, changeable silk. She
was the most beautiful woman Kevenhiiller had ever
seen.

He stood as if he had lost his wits, and stared at
her as she came towards him.

She came direct from the deepest thicket of the
wood, where the ferns are as high as trees, where
the giant firs shut out the sun, so that it can only
fall in golden drops on the yellow moss.

I should like to have been in Kevenhiiller's place,
to see her as she came with ferns and pine-needles
tangled in her yellow hair and a little black snake
about her neck.

How the people must have stared at her ! Horses
bolted, frightened by her long, floating hair. The
street boys ran after her. The men dropped their
meat-axes to gape at her.

She herself went calm and majestic, only smiling
a little at the excitement, so that Kevenhiiller saw
her small, pointed teeth shine between her red lips.

She had hung a cloak over her shoulders so that
none should see who she was; but as ill-luck would

KEVENHULLER 4^9

have it, she had forgotten to cover her tail. It
dragged along the paving-stones.

Kevenhiiller saw the tail; he was sorry that a
noble lady should make herself the laughing-stock
of the town ; so he bowed and said courteously : —

"Would it not please your Grace to lift your
train ? "

The wood-nymph was touched, not only by his
kindness, but by his politeness. She stopped before
him and looked at him, so that he thought that
shining sparks passed from her eyes into his brain.
"KevenhuUer," she said, "hereafter you shall be
able with your two hands to execute whatever work
you will, but only one of each kind."

She said it and she could keep her word. For
who does not know that the wood-nymph has the
power to give genius and wonderful powers to those
who win her favor ?

Kevenhiiller remained in Karlstad and hired a
workshop there. He hammered and worked night
and day. In a week he had made a wonder. It was
a carriage, which went by itself. It went up hill
and down hill, went fast or slow, could be steered
and turned, be stopped and started, as one wished.

Kevenhuller became famous. He was so proud of
his carriage that he journeyed up to Stockholm to
show it to the king. He did not need to wait for
post-horses nor to scold ostlers. He proudly rode in
his own carriage and was there in a few hours.

He rode right up to the palace, and the king came
out with his court ladies and gentlemen and looked
at him. They could not praise him enough.

The king then said: "You might give me that
carriage, Kevenhuller. " And although he answered

420 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

no^ the king persisted and wished to have the
carriage.

Thep Kevenhuller saw that in the king's train
stood a court lady with light hair and a green dress.
He recognized her, and he understood that it was
she who had advised the king to ask him for his
carriage. He was in despair. He could not bear
that another should have his carriage, nor did he
dare to say no to the king. Therefore he drove it
with such speed against the palace wall that it was
broken into a thousand pieces.

When he came home to Karlstad he tried to make
another carriage. But he could not. Then he was
dismayed at the gift the wood-nymph had given him.
He had left the life of ease at his father's castle to
be a benefactor to many, not to make wonders which
only one could use. What good was it to him to be
a great master, yes, the greatest of all masters, if he
could not duplicate his marvels so that they were of
use to thousands.

And he so longed for quiet, sensible work that he
became a stone-cutter and mason. It was then he
built the great stone tower down by the west bridge,
and he meant to build walls and portals and court-
yards, ramparts and turrets, so that a veritable castle
should stand by the Klar River.

And there he should realize his childhood's dream.
Everything which had to do with industry and handi-
craft should have a place in the castle halls. White
millers and blacksmiths, watchmakers with green
shades before their strained eyes, dyers with dark
hands, weavers, turners, filers, — all should have
their workshops in his castle.

And everything went well. Of the stones he

KEVENHiJLLER 42 1

himself had hewn he had with his own hand built
the tower. He had fastened windmill sails on it,
— for the tower was to be a mill, — and now he
wanted to begin on the smithy.

But one day he stood and watched how the light,
strong wings turned before the wind. Then his old
longing came over him.

He shut himself in in his workshop, tasted no
food, took no rest, and worked unceasingly. At the
end of a week he had made a new marvel.

One day he climbed up on the roof of his tower
and began to fasten wings to his shoulders.

Two street boys saw him, and they gave a cry
which was heard through the whole town. They
started off; panting, they ran up the streets and
down the streets, knocking on all the doors, and
screaming as they ran: —

"Kevenhiiller is going to fly! Kevenhiiller is
going to fly!"

He stood calmly on the tower -roof and fastened on
his wings, and in the meantime crowds of people
came running through the narrow streets of old
Karlstad. Soon the bridge was black with them.
The market-place was packed, and the banks of the
river swarmed with people.

Kevenhiiller at last got his wings on and set out.
He gave a couple of flaps with them, and then he
was out in the air. He lay and floated high above
the earth.

He drew in the air with long breaths; it was
strong and pure. His breast expanded, and the old
knights' blood began to seethe in him. He tumbled
like a pigeon, he hovered like a hawk, his flight was
as swift as the swallow's, as sure as the falcon's. If

422 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

he had only been able to make such a pair of wings
for every one of them ! If he had only been able to
give them all the power to raise themselves in this
pure air! He could not enjoy it alone. Ah, that
wood-nymph, — if he could only meet her !

Then he saw, with eyes which were almost blinded
by the dazzling sunlight, how some one came flying
towards him. Great wings like his own, and between
the wings floated a human body. He saw floating
yellow hair, billowy green silk, wild shining eyes.
It was she, it was she!

Kevenhiiller did not stop to consider. With furi-
ous speed he threw himself upon her to kiss her or
to strike her, — he was not sure which, — but at any
rate to force her to remove the curse from his exist-
ence. He did not look where he was going; he saw
only the flying hair and the wild eyes. He came
close up to her and stretched out his arms to seize
her. But his wings caught in hers, and hers were
the stronger. His wings were torn and destroyed;
he himself was swung round and hurled down, he
knew not whither.

When he returned to consciousness he lay on the
roof of his own tower, with the broken flying-machine
by his side. He had flown right against his own
mill ; the sails had caught him, whirled him round
a couple of times, and then thrown him down on the
tower roof.

So that was the end.

Kevenhuller was again a desperate man. He could
not bear the thought of honest work, and he did not
dare to use his magic power. If he should make
another wonder and should then destroy it, his heart
would break with sorrow. And if he did not destroy

KEVENHULLER 423

it, he would certainly go mad at the thought that he
could not do good to others with it.

He looked up his knapsack and stick, let the mill
stand as it was, and decided to go out and search for
the wood-nymph.

In the course of his joumeyings he came to Ekeby,
a few years before the major's wife was driven out.
There he was well received, and there he remained.
The memories of his childhood came back to him,
and he allowed them to call him count. His hair
grew gray and his brain slept. He was so old that
he could no longer believe in the feats of his youth.
He was not the man who could work wonders. It
was not he who had made the automatic carriage and
the flying-machine. Oh, no, — tales, tales !

But then it happened that the major's wife was
driven from Ekeby, and the pensioners were masters
of the great estate. Then a life began there which
had never been worse. A storm passed over the
land; men warred on earth, and souls in heaven.
Wolves came from Dovre with witches on their
backs, and the wood-nymph came to Ekeby.

The pensioners did not recognize her. They
thought that she was a poor and distressed woman
whom a cruel mother-in-law had hunted to despair.
So they gave her shelter, revered her like a queen,
and loved her like a child.

Kevenhiiller alone saw who she was. At first he
was dazzled like the others. But one day she wore
a dress of green, shimmering silk, and when she had
that on, Kevenhiiller recognized her.

There she sat on silken cushions, and all the old
men made themselves ridiculous to serve her. One
was cook and another footman; one reader, one

424 THE STORY OF GO ST A BERUNG

court-musician, one shoemaker; they all had their
occupations.

They said she was ill, the odious witch; but
Kevenhiiller knew what that illness meant. She
was laughing at them all.

He warned the pensioners against her. " Look at
her small, pointed teeth,'* he said, "and her wild,
shining eyes. She is the wood-nymph, — all evil is
about in these terrible times. I tell you she is the
wood-nymph, come hither for our ruin. I have seen
her before."

But when Kevenhiiller saw the wood-nymph and
had recognized her, the desire for work came over
him. It began to burn and seethe in his brain; his
fingers ached with longing to bend themselves about
hammer and file ; he could hold out no longer. With
a bitter heart he put on his working-blouse and shut
himself in in an old smithy, which was to be his
workshop.

A cry went out from Ekeby over the whole of
Varmland: —

" Kevenhiiller has begun to work ! "

A new wonder was to see the light. What should
it be ? Will he teach us to walk on the water, or to
raise a ladder to the stars?

One night, the first or second of October, he had
the wonder ready. He came out of the workshop
and had it in his hand. It was a wheel which turned
incessantly; as it turned, the spokes glowed like
fire, and it gave out warmth and light. Kevenhiiller
had made a sun. When he came out of the work-
shop with it, the night grew so light that the
sparrows began to chirp and the clouds to burn as if
at dawn.

kevenhOller 425

There should never again be darkness or cold on
earth. His head whirled when he thought of it.
The sun would continue to rise and set, but when it
disappeared, thousands and thousands of his fire-
wheels should flame through the land, and the air
would quiver with warmth, as on the hottest summer-
day. Harvests should ripen in midwinter; wild
strawberries should cover the hillsides the whole
year round; the ice should never bind the water.

His fire- wheel should create a new world. It
should be furs to the poor and a sun to the miners.
It should give power to the mills, life to nature, a
new, rich, and happy existence to mankind. But at
the same time he knew that it was all a dream and
that the wood-nymph would never let him duplicate
his wheel. And in his anger and longing for
revenge, he thought that he would kill her, and
then he no longer knew what he was doing.

He went to the main building, arid in the hall
under the stairs he put down his fire-wheel. It was
his intention to set fire to the house and burn up the
witch in it.

Then he went back to his workshop and sat there
silently listening.

There was shouting and crying outside. Now
they could see that a great deed was done.

Yes, run, scream, ring the alarm 1 But she is
burning in there, the wood-nymph whom you laid
on silken cushions.

May she writhe in torment, may she flee before
the flames from room to room ! Ah, how the green
silk will blaze, and how the flames will play in her
torrents of hair ! Courage, flames ! courage ! Catch
her, set fire to her ! Witches burn ! Fear not her

426 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

magic, flames! Let her bum! There is one who
for her sake must burn his whole life through.

Bells rang, wagons came rattling, pumps were
brought out, water was carried up from the lake,
people came running from all the neighboring vil-
lages. There were cries and wailings and com-
mands; that was the roof, which had fallen in; there
was the terrible crackling and roaring of a fire. But
nothing disturbed Kevenhiiller. He sat on the
choppingfblock and rubbed his hands.

Then he heard a crash, as if the heavens had
fallen, and he started up in triumph. " Now it is
done!" he cried. "Now she cannot escape; now
she is crushed by the beams or burned up by the
flames. Now it is done."

And he thought of the honor and glory of Ekeby
which had had to be sacrificed to get her out of the
world, — the magnificent halls, where so much hap-
piness had dwelt, the tables which had groaned
under dainty dishes, the precious old furniture, silver
and china, which could never be replaced —

And then he sprang up with a cry. His fire-
wheel, his sun, the model on which everything
depended, had he not put it under the stairs to cause
the fire ?

Kevenhiiller looked down on himself, paralyzed
with dismay.

" Am I going mad ? " he said. " How could I do
such a thing ? "

At the same moment the door of the workshop
opened and the wood-nymph walked in.

She stood on the threshold, smiling and fair.
Her green dress had neither hole nor stain, no smoke
darkened her yellow hair. She was just as he had

KEVENHULLER 427

seen her in the market-place at Karlstad in his young
days ; her tail hung between her feet, and she had
all the wildness and fragrance of the wood about
her.

"Ekeby is burning," she said, and laughed.

Kevenhiiller had the sledge-hammer lifted and
meant to throw it at her head, but then he saw that
she had his fire-wheel in her hand.

" See what I have saved for you," she said.

Kevenhiiller threw himself on his knees before
her.

" You have broken my carriage, you have rent my
wings, and you have ruined my life. Have grace,
have pity on me!"

She climbed up on the bench and sat there, just
as young and mischievous as when he saw her first.

"I see that you know who I am," she said.

"I know you, I have always known you," said
the unfortunate man ; " you are genius. But set me
free ! Take back your gift ! Let me be an ordinary
person ! Why do you persecute me ? Why do you
destroy me ? "

"Madman," said the wood-nymph, "I have never
wished you any harm. I gave you a great reward ;
but I can also take it from you if you wish. But
consider well. You will repent it."

" No, no ! " he cried ; " take from me the power of
working wonders ! "

"First, you must destroy this," she said, and
threw the fire- wheel on the ground in front of him.

He did not hesitate. He swung the sledge-
hammer over the shining sun ; sparks flew about the
room, splinters and flames danced about him, and
then his last wonder lay in fragments.

428 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

" Yes, so I take my gift from you," said the wood-
nymph. . As she stood in the door and the glare
from the fire streamed over her, he looked at her for
the last time.' More beautiful than ever before, she
seemed to him, and no longer malicious, only stem
and proud.

"Madman," she said, "did I ever forbid you to let
others copy your works } I only wished to protect
the man of genius from a mechanic's labor."

Whereupon she went. Kevenhiiller was insane
for a couple of days. Then he was as usual again.

But in his madness he had burned down Ekeby.
No one was hurt. Still, it was a great sorrow to the
pensioners that the hospitable home, where they had
enjoyed so many good things, should suffer such
injury Nn their time.

BROBY FAIR 429

CHAPTER XXI

BROBY FAIR

On the first Friday in October the big Broby Fair
begins, and lasts one week. It is the festival of the
autumn. There is slaughtering and baking in every
house ; the new winter clothes are then worn for the
first time; the brandy rations are doubled; work
rests. There is feasting on all the estates. The
servants and laborers draw their pay and hold long
conferences over what they shall buy at the Fair.
People from a distance come in small companies
with knapsacks on their backs and staffs in their
hands. Many are driving their cattle before them
to the market. Small, obstinate young bulls and
goats stand still and plant their forefeet, causing
much vexation to their owners and much amusement
to the by-standers. The guest-rooms at the manors
are filled with guests, bits of news are exchanged,
and the prices of cattle discussed.

And on the first Fair day what crowds swarm up
Broby hill and over the wide market-place ! Booths
are set up, where the tradespeople spread out their
wares. Rope-dancers, organ-grinders, and blind
violin-players are everywhere, as well as fortune-
tellers, sellers of sweetmeats and of brandy. Beyond
the rows of booths, vegetables and fruit are offered
for sale by the gardeners from the big estates. Wide
stretches are taken up by ruddy copper-kettles. It

430 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

is plain, however, by the movement in the Fair, that
there is want in Svartsjo and Bro and Lofvik and
the other provinces about the Lofven : trade is poor
at the booths. There is most bustle in the cattle-
market, for many have to sell both cow and horse to
be able to live through the winter.

It is a gay scene. If one only has money for a
glass or two, one can keep up one's courage. And
it is not only the brandy which is the cause of the
merriment ; when the people from the lonely wood-
huts come down to the market-place with its seeth-
ing masses, and hear the din of the screaming,
laughing crowd, they become as if delirious with
excitement.

Everybody who does not have to stay at home to
look after the house and cattle has come to this
Broby Fair. There are the pensioners from Ekeby
and the peasants from NygSrd, horse-dealers from
Norway, Finns from the Northern forests, vagrants
from the highways.

Sometimes the roaring sea gathers in a whirlpool,
which turns about a middle point. No one knows
what is at the centre, until a couple of policemen
break a way through the crowd to put an end to a
fight or to lift up an overturned cart.

Towards noon the great fight began. The peasants
had got it into their heads that the tradespeople were
using too short yardsticks, and it began with quar-
relling and disturbance about the booths; then it
turned to violence.

Every one knows that for many of those who for
days had not seen anything but want and suffering,
it was a pleasure to strike, it made no difference
whom or what. And as soon as they see that a fight

BROBY FAIR 43 1

is going on they come rushing from all sides. The
pensioners mean to break through to make peace
after their fashion, and the tradesmen run to help
one another.

Big Mons from Fors is the most eager in the
game. He is drunk, and he is angry ; he has thrown
down a tradesman and has begun to beat him, but at
his calls for help his comrades hurry to him and try
to make Mons let him go. Then Mons sweeps the
rolls of cloth from one of the counters, and seizes the
top, which is a yard broad and five yards long and
made of thick planks, and begins to brandish it as a
weapon.

He is a terrible man, big Mons. It was he who
kicked out a wall in the Filipstad-jail, he who could
lift a boat out of the water and carry it on his
shoulders. When he begins to strike about him
with the heavy counter, every one flies before him.
But he follows, striking right and left. For him it
is no longer a question of friends or enemies: he
only wants some one to hit, since he has got a
weapon.

The people scatter in terror. Men and women
scream and run. But how can the women escape
when many of them have their children by the hand ?
Booths and carts stand in their way ; oxen and cows,
maddened by the noise, prevent their escape.

In a comer between the booths a group of women
are wedged, and towards them the giant ragcji.
Does he not see a tradesman in the midst of the
crowd.? He raises the plank and lets it fall. In
pale, shuddering terror the women receive the attack,
sinking under the deadly blow.

But as the board falls whistling down over them,

432 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

its force is broken against a man's upstretched arms.
One man has not sunk down, but raised himself
above the crowd, one man has voluntarily taken the
blow to save the many. The women and children
are uninjured. One man has broken the force of
the blow, but he lies now unconscious on the
ground.

Big Mons does not lift up his board. He has met
the man's eye, just as the counter struck his head,
and it has paralyzed him. He lets himself be bound
and taken away without resistance.

But the report flies about the Fair that big Mons
has killed Captain Lennart. They say that he who
had been the people's friend died to save the women
and defenceless children.

And a silence falls on the great square, where life
had lately roared at fever pitch: trade ceases, the
fighting stops, the people leave their dinners.

Their friend is dead. The silent throngs stream
towards the place where he has fallen. He lies
stretched out on the ground quite unconscious; no
wound is visible, but his skull seems to be flattened.

Some of the men lift him carefully up on to the
counter which the giant has let fall. They think
they perceive that he still lives.

" Where shall we carry him ? " they ask one
another.

" Home," answers a harsh voice in the crowd.

Yes, good men, carry him home! Lift him up
on your shoulders and carry him home! He has
been God's plaything, he has been driven like a
feather before his breath. Carry him home!

That wounded head has rested on the hard barrack-
bed in the prison, on sheaves of straw in the barn.

BROBY FAIR 433

Let it now come home and rest on a soft pillow!
He has suffered undeserved shame and torment, he
has been hunted from his own door. He has been a
wandering fugitive, following the paths of God
where he could find them ; but his promised land was
that home whose gates God had closed to him. Per-
haps his house stands open for one who has died to
save women and children.

Now he does not come as a malefactor, escorted
by reeling boon-companions; he is followed by a
sorrowing people, in whose cottages he has lived
while he helped their sufferings. Carry him home !

And so they do. Six men lift the board on which
he lies on their shoulders and carry him away from
the fair-grounds. Wherever they pass, the people
move to one side and stand quiet ; the men uncover
their heads, the women courtesy as they do in church
when God's name is spoken. Many weep and dry
their eyes; others begin to tell what a man he had
been, — so kind, so gay, so full of counsel and so
religious. It is wonderful to see, too, how, as soon
as one of his bearers gives out, another quietly
comes and puts his shoulder under the board.

So Captain . Lennart comes by the place where
the pensioners are standing.

"I must go and see that he comes home safely,"
says Beerencreutz, and leaves his place at the road-
side to follow the procession to Helgesater. Many
follow his example.

The fair-grounds are deserted. Everybody has
to follow to see that Captain Lennart comes home.

When the procession reaches Helgesater, the

house is silent and deserted. Again the colonel's

fist beats on the closed door. All the servants are

28

434 THE STORY OF GO ST A BE RUNG

at the Fair; the captain's wife is alone at home. It
is she again who opens the door.

And she asks, as she asked once before, —

" What do you want ? "

Whereupon the colonel answers, as he answered
once before, —

" We are here with your husband. "

She looks at him, where he stands stiff and calm
as usual. She looks at the bearers behind him, who
are weeping, and at all that mass of people. She
stands there on the steps and looks into hundreds of
weeping eyes, who stare sadly up at her. Last she
looks at her husband, who lies stretched out on the
bier, and she presses her hand to her heart. "That
is his right face," she murmurs.

Without asking more, she bends down, draws
back a bolt, opens the hall-doors wide, and then goes
before the others into the bedroom.

The colonel helps her to drag out the big bed and
shake up the pillows, and so Captain Lennart is once
more laid on soft down and white linen.

" Is he alive ? " she asks.
Yes," answers the colonel.
Is there any hope } "
No. Nothing can be done."

There was silence for a while; then a sudden
thought comes over her.

"Are they weeping for his sake, all those peo-
ple ? "

" Yes. "

" What has he done ? "

"The last thing he did was tO' let big Mons kill
him to save women and children from death. "

Again she sits silent for a while and thinks.

(t

BROBY FAIR 435

"What kind of a face did he have, colonel, when
he came home two months ago ? "

The colonel started. Now he understands; now at
last he understands.

" Gosta had painted him. "

" So it was on account of one of your pranks that
I shut him out from his home? How will you
answer for that, colonel.?"

Beerencreutz shrugged his broad shoulders.

" I have much to answer for. "

"But I think that this must be the worst thing
you have done."

"Nor have I ever gone a heavier way than that
to-day up to Helgesater. Moreover, there are two
others who are guilty in this matter."

"Who.?"

" Sintram is one, you yourself are the other. You
are a hard woman. I know that many have tried to
speak to you of your husband."

" It is true, " she answers.

Then she begs him to tell her all about that even-
ing at Broby.

He tells her all he can remember, and she listens
silently. Captain Lennart lies still unconscious on
the bed. The room is full of weeping people; no
one thinks of shutting out that mourning crowd. All
the doors stand open, the stairs and the halls are
filled with silent, grieving people; far out in the
yard they stand in close masses.

When the colonel has finished, she raises her
voice and says, —

" If there are any pensioners here, I ask them to
go. It is hard for me to see them when I am sitting
by my husband's death-bed."

436 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLIMG

Without another word the colonel rises and goes
out. Sb do Gosta Berling and several of the other
pensioners who had followed Captain Lennart. The
people move aside for the little group of humiliated
men.

When they are gone the captain's wife says:
" Will some of them who have seen my husband dur-
ing this time tell me where he has lived, and what
he has done ? " Then they begin to give testimony
of Captain Lennart to his wife, who has misjudged
him and sternly hardened her heart against him.

It lasted a long time before they all were done.
All through the twilight and the evening they stand
and speak ; one after another steps forward and tells
of him to his wife, who would not hear his name
mentioned.

Some tell how he found them on a sick-bed and
cured them. There are wild brawlers whom he has
tamed. There are mourners whom he has cheered,
drunkards whom he had led to sobriety. Every one
who had been in unbearable distress had sent a mes-
sage to God's wayfarer, and he had helped them, or
at least he had waked hope and faith.

Out in the yard the crowd stands and waits. They
know what is going on inside: that which is said
aloud by the death-bed is whispered from man to
man outside. He who has something to say pushes
gently forward. "Here is one who can bear wit-
ness," they say, and let him pass. And they step
forward out of the darkness, give their testimony,
and disappear again into the darkness.

"What does she say now.?" those standing out-
side ask when some one comes out. "What does
she say.?"

BROBY FAIR 437

''She shines like a queen. She smiles like a
bride. She has moved his arm-chair up to the bed
and laid on it the clothes which she herself had woven
for him."

But then a silence falls on the people. No one
says it, all know it at the same time: "He is
dying."

Captain Lennart opens his eyes and sees everything.

He sees his home, the people, his wife, his chil-
dren, the clothes; and he smiles. But he has only
waked to die. He draws a rattling breath and gives
up the ghost.

Then the stories cease, but a voice takes up a
death-hymn. All join in, and, borne on hundreds
of strong voices, the song rises on high.

It is earth's farewell greeting to the departing
soul.

438 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

CHAPTER XXII

THE FOREST COTTAGE

It was many years before the pensioners' reigpi at
Ekeby.

The shepherd's boy and girl played together in
the wood, built houses with flat stones, and picked
cloud-berries. They were both born in the wood.
The wood was their home and mansion. They lived
in peace with everything there.

The children looked upon the lynx and the fox as
their watch-dogs, the weasel was their cat, hares and
squirrels their cattle, owls and grouse sat in their
bird-cage, the pines were their servants, and the
young birch-trees guests at their feasts. They knew
the hole where the viper lay curled up in his winter
rest; and when they had bathed they had seen the
water-snake come swimming through the clear water;
but they feared neither snake nor wild creature ; they
belonged to the wood and it was their home. There
nothing could frighten them.

Deep in the wood lay the cottage where the boy
lived. A hilly wood-path led to it; mountains closed
it in and shut out the sun ; a bottomless swamp lay
near by and gave out the whole year round an icy
mist Such a dwelling seemed far from attractive to
the people on the plain.

The shepherd's boy and girl were some day to be
married, live there in the forest cottage, and support

THE FOREST COTTAGE 439

themselves by the work of their hands. But before
they were married, war passed over the land, and the
boy enlisted. He came home again without wound
or injured limb ; but he had been changed for life by
the campaign. He had seen too much of the world's
wickedness and man's cruel activity against man. He
could no longer see the good.

At first no one saw any change in him. With
the love of his childhood he went to the clergyman
and had the banns published. The forest cottage
above Ekeby was their home, as they had planned
long before ; but it was not a happy home.

The wife looked at her husband as at a stranger.
Since he had come from the wars, she could not
recognize him. His laugh was hard, and he spoke
but little. She was afraid of him.

He did no harm, and worked hard. Still he was
not liked, for he thought evil of everybody. He felt
himself like a hated stranger. Now the forest
animals were his enemies. The mountain, which shut
out the sun, and the swamp, which sent up the mist,
were his foes. The forest is a terrible place for one
who has evil thoughts.

He who will live in the wilderness should have
bright memories. Otherwise he sees only murder
and oppression among plants and animals, just as he
had seen it before among men. He expects evil
from everything he meets.

The soldier, Jan Hok, could not explain what was
the matter with him ; but he felt that nothing went
well with him. There was little peace in his home.
His sons who grew up there were strong, but wild.
They were hardy and brave men, but they too lived
at enmity with all mea

440 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

His wife was tempted by her sorrow to seek out
the secrets of the wilderness. In swamp and thicket
she gathered healing herbs. She could cure sickness,
and give advice to those who were crossed in love.
She won fame as a witch, and was shunned, although
she did much good.

One day the wife tried to speak to her husband of
his trouble.

" Ever since you went to the war," she said, " you
have been so changed. What did they do to you
there ? "

Then he rose up, and was ready to strike her ; and
so it was every time she spoke of the war, he be-
came mad with rage. From no one could he bear
to hear the word war, and it soon became known.
So people were careful of that subject.

But none of his brothers in arms could say that
he had done more harm than others. He had fought
like a good soldier. It was only all the dreadful
things he had seen which had frightened him so
that since then he saw nothing but evil. All his
trouble came from the war. He thought that all
nature hated him, because he had had a share in
such things. They who knew more could console
themselves that they had fought for fatherland and
honor. What did he know of such things? He only
felt that everything hated him because he had shed
blood and done much injury.

When the major's wife was driven from Ekeby,
he lived alone in his cottage. His wife was dead and
his sons away. During the fairs his house was al-
ways full of guests. Black-haired, swarthy gypsies
put up there. They like those best whom others
avoid. Small, long-haired horses climbed up the

THE FOREST COTTAGE 441

wood path, dragging carts loaded with children and
bundles of rags. Women, prematurely old, with
features swollen by smoking and drinking, and men
with pale, sharp faces and sinewy bodies followed the
carts. When the gypsies came to the forest cottage,
there was a merry life there. Brandy and cards and
loud talking -followed with them. They had much
to tell of thefts and horse-dealing and bloody fights.

The Broby Fair began on a Friday, and then Cap-
tain Lennart was killed. Big Mons, who gave the
death-blow, was son to the old man in the forest
cottage. When the gypsies on Sunday afternoon
sat together there, they handed old Jan Hok the
brandy bottle oftener than usual, and talked to him of
prison life and prison fare and trials; for they had
often tried such things.

The old man sat on the chopping-block in the
corner and said little. His big lack-lustre eyes stared
at the crowd which filled the room. It was dusk,
but the wood-fire lighted the room.

The door was softly opened and two women en-
tered. It was the young Countess Elizabeth followed
by the daughter of the Broby clergyman. Lovely
and glowing, she came into the circle of light. She
told them that Gosta Berling had not been seen at
Ekeby since Captain Lennart died. She and her
servant had searched for him in the wood the whole
afternoon. Now she saw that there were men here
who had much wandered, and knew all the paths.
Had they seen him ? She had come in to rest, and
to ask if they had seen him.

It was a useless question. None of them had seen
him.

They gave her a chair. She sank down on it, and

442 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

sat silent for a while. There was no sound in the
room. All looked at her and wondered at her. At
last she grew frightened at the silence, started, and
tried to speak of indifferent things. She turned to
the old man in the corner, " I think I have heard
that you have been a soldier," she said. " Tell me
something of the war ! "

The silence grew still deeper. The old man sat as
if he had not heard.

** It would be very interesting to hear about the
war from some one who had been there himself,"
continued the countess; but she stopped short, for
the Broby clergyman's daughter shook her head at
her. She must have said something forbidden.
Everybody was looking at her as if she had offended
against the simplest rule of propriety. Suddenly
a gypsy woman raised her sharp voice and asked:
" Are you not she who has been countess at Borg?"

" Yes, I am."

" That was another thing than running about the
wood after a mad priest."

The countess rose and said farewell. She was quite
rested. The woman who had spoken followed her
out through the door.

" You understand, countess," she said, " I had to say
something; for it does not do to speak to the old
man of war. He can't bear to hear the word. I
meant well."

Countess Elizabeth hurried away, but she soon
stopped. She saw the threatening wood, the dark
mountain, and the reeking swamp. It must be terrible
to live here for one whose soul is filled with evil mem-
ories. She felt compassion for the old man who had
sat there with the dark gypsies for company.

THE FOREST COTTAGE 443

** Anna Lisa," she said, " let us turn back ! They
were kind to us, but I behaved badly. I want to talk
to the old man about pleasanter things."

And happy to have found some one to comfort,
she went back to the cottage.

** I think," she said, " that Gosta Berling is wander-
ing here in the wood, and means to take his own life.
It is therefore important that he be soon found and
prevented. I and my maid, Anna Lisa, thought we
saw him sometimes, but then he disappeared. He
keeps to that part of the mountain where the
broom-girl was killed. I happened to think that I
do not need to go way down to Ekeby to get help.
Here sit many active men who easily could catch
him."

" Go along, boys ! " cried the gypsy woman.
*' When the countess does not hold herself too good
to ask a service of the forest people, you must go at
once."

The men rose immediately and went out to search.

Old Jan Hok sat still and stared before him with
lustreless eyes. Terrifyingly gloomy and hard, he sat
there. The young woman could think of nothing to
say to him. Then she saw that a child lay sick on a
sheaf of straw, and noticed that a woman had hurt her
hand. Instantly she began to care for the sick. She
was soon friends with the gossiping women, and had
them show her the smallest children.

In an hour the men came back. They carried
Gosta Berling bound into the room. They laid him
down on the floor before the fire. His clothes were
torn and dirty, his cheeks sunken, and his eyes wild.
Terrible had been his ways during those days; he
had lain on the damp ground ; he had burrowed with

444 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

his hands and face in bogs, dragged himself over
rocks, forced his way through tlie thickest under-
brush. Of his own will he had never come with the
men ; but they had overpowered and bound him.

When his wife saw him so, she was angry. She did
not free his bound limbs ; she let him lie where he
was on the floor. With scorn she turned from him.

" How you look ! " she said.

" I had never meant to come again before your
eyes," he answered.

" Am I not your wife? Is it not my right to ex-
pect you to come to me with your troubles? In
bitter sorrow I have waited for you these two days."

" I was the cause of Captain^ Lennart's misfortunes.
How could I dare to show myself to you ? "

" You are not often afraid, Gosta."

" The only service I can do you, Elizabeth, is to
rid you of myself."

Unspeakable contempt flashed from under her
frowning brows at him.

" You wish to make me a suicide's wife ! "

His face was distorted.

" Elizabeth, let us go out into the silent forest and
talk."

" Why should not these people hear us? " she cried,
speaking in a shrill voice. " Are we better than any
of them? Has anyone of them caused more sorrow
and injury than we? They are the children of the
forest, and of the highway ; they are hated by every
man. Let them hear how sin and sorrow also follows
the lord of Ekeby, the beloved of all, Gosta Berling !
Do you think your wife considers herself better than
any one of them — or do you ? "

He raised himself with difficulty onto his elbow.

THE FOREST COTTAGE 445

and looked at her with sudden defiance. " I am not
such a wretch as you think."

Then she heard the story of those two days. The
first day Gosta wandered about in the wood, driven
by remorse. He could not bear to meet any one's
eye. But he did not think of dying. He meant to
journey to far distant lands. On Sunday, however,
he came down from the hills and went to the Bro
church. Once more he wished to see the people : the
poor, hungry people whom he had dreamed of serv-
ing when he had sat by the Broby clergyman's pile
of shame, and whom he had learned to love when
he saw them disappear into the night with the dead
broom-girl.

The service had begun when he came to the church.
He crept up to the gallery, and looked down on the
people. He had felt bitter agony. He had wanted
to speak to them, to comfort them in their poverty
and hopelessness. If he had only been allowed to
speak in God's house, hopeless as he was, he would
have found words of hope and salvation for them all.

Then he left the church, went into the sacristy, and
wrote the message which his wife already knew. He
had promised that work should be renewed at Ekeby,
and grain distributed to those in greatest need. He
had hoped that his wife and the pensioners would
fulfil his promises when he was gone.

As he came out, he saw a coffin standing before the
parish-hall. It was plain, put together in haste, but
covered with black crape and wreaths. He knew
that it was Captain Lennart's. The people had
begged the captain's wife to hasten the funeral, so
that all those who had come to the Fair could be at
the burial.

446 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

He was standing and looking at the coffin, when
a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. Sintram had
come up to him.

" Gosta," he said, " if you want to play a regular
trick on a person, lie down and die. There is noth-
ing more clever than to die, nothing which so
deceives an honest man who suspects no harm.
Lie you down and die, I tell you ! "

Gosta listened with horror to what he said. Sin-
tram complained of the failure of well-laid plans.
He had wanted to see a waste about the shores of
the Lofven. He had made the pensioners lords of
the place ; he had let the Broby clergyman impov-
erish the people ; he had called forth the drought and
the famine. At the Broby Fair the decisive blow
was to have fallen. Excited by their misfortunes,
the people should have turned to murder and rob-
bery. Then there should have been lawsuits to
beggar them. Famine, riot, and every kind of mis-
fortune should have ravaged them. Finally, the
country would have become so odious and detestable
that no one could have lived there, and it would all
have been Sintram*s doing. It would have been his
joy and pride, for he was evil-minded. He loved
desert wastes and uncultivated fields. But this man
who had known how to die at the right moment had
spoiled it all for him.

Then Gosta asked him what would have been the
good of it all.

" It would have pleased me, Gosta, for I am bad.
I am the grizzly bear on the mountain ; I am the snow-
storm on the plain; I like to kill and to persecute.
Away, I say, with people and their works ! I don't
like them. I can let them slip from between my

THE FOREST COTTAGE 447

claws and cut their capers, — that is amusing too for
a while ; but now I am tired of play, Gosta, now I
want to strike, now I want to kill and to destroy."

He was mad, quite mad. He began a long time ago
as a joke with those devilish tricks, and now his mali-
ciousness had taken the upper hand ; now he thought
he really was a spirit from the lower regions. He had
fed and fostered the evil in him until it had taken pos-
session of his soul. For wickedness can drive people
mad, as well as love and brooding.

He was furious, and in his anger he began to tear
the wreaths from off the coffin ; but then Gosta Ber-
ling cried : " Let the coffin be ! "

" Well, well, well, so I shall not touch it ! Yes ;
I shall throw my friend Lennart out on the ground
and trample on his wreaths. Do you not see what
he has done to me ? Do you not see in what a fine
gray coach I am riding? "

And Gosta then saw that a couple of prison-vans
with the sheriff and constables of the district stood
and waited outside the church-yard wall.

" I ought to send Captain Lennart's wife thanks
that she yesterday sat herself down to read through
old papers in order to find proof against me in that
matter of the powder, you know? Shall I not let her
know that she would have done better to occupy
herself with brewing and baking, than in sending the
sheriff and his men after me? Shall I have nothing
for the tears I have wept to induce Scharling to let
me come here and read a prayer by my good friend's
coffin?"

And he began again to drag on the crape.

Then Gosta Berling came close up to him and
seized his arms.

448 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

** I will give anything to make you let the coffin
alone/' he said.

** Do what you like," said the madman. " Call if
you like. I can always do something before the
sheriff gets here. Fight with me, if you like. That
will be a pleasing sight here by the church. Let us
fight among the wreaths and palls.**

** I will buy rest for the dead at any price. Take
my life, take everything ! "

" You promise much."

** You can prove it."

"Well, then, kill yourself!"

** I will do it ; but first the coffin shall be safely
under earth."

And so it was. Sintram took Gosta's oath that
he would not be alive twelve hours after Captain
Lennart was buried. " Then I know that you can
never be good for anything," he said.

It was easy for Gosta Berling to promise. He was
glad to be able to give his wife her liberty. Remorse
had made him long for death. The only thing which
troubled him was, that he had promised the majors
wife not to die as long as the Broby clergyman's
daughter was a servant at Ekeby. But Sintram said
that she could no longer be considered as servant,
since she had inherited her father's fortune. Gosta
objected that the Broby clergyman had hidden his
treasures so well that no one had been able to find
them. Then Sintram laughed and said that they
were hidden up among the pigeons' nests in the
church tower. Thereupon he went away. And Gosta
went back to the wood again. It seemed best to
him to die at the place where the broom-girl had
been killed. He had wandered there the whole after-

THE FOREST COTTAGE 449

no-jji. He had seen his wife in the wood ; and then
he had not had the strength to kill himself.

All this he told his wife, while he lay bound on the
floor of the cottage.

" Oh/' she said sadly, when he had finished, " how
familiar it all is ! Always ready to thrust your hands
into the fire, Gosta, always ready to throw yourself
away ! How noble such things seemed to me once !
How I now value calmness and good sense ! What
good did you do the dead by such a promise?
What did it matter if Sintram had overturned the
coffin and torn off the crape? It would have been
picked up again ; there would have been found new
crape, new wreaths. If you had laid your hand on
that good man's coffin, there before Sintram's eyes,
and sworn to live to help those poor people whom
he wished to ruin, that I should have commended.
If you had thought, when you saw the people in the
church : * I will help them ; I will make use of all my
strength to help them,' and not laid that burden on
your weak wife, and on old men with failing strength,
I should also have commended that."

Gosta Berling lay silent for a while.

" We pensioners are not free men," he said at last
** We have promised one another to live for pleasure,
and only for pleasure. Woe to us all if one breaks
his word ! "

"Woe to you," said the countess, indignantly, "if

you shall be the most cowardly of the pensioners,

and slower to improve than any of them. Yesterday

afternoon the whole eleven sat in the pensioners' wing,

and they were very sad. You were gone ; Captain

Lennart was gone. The glory and honor of Ekeby

were gone. They left the toddy tray untouched;

29

4SO THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

they would not let tne see them. Then the maid,
Anna Lisa, who stands here, went up to them. You
know she is an energetic little woman who for years
has struggled despairingly against neglect and waste.

" * To-day I have again been at home and looked
for father's money,* she said to the pensioners ; ' but
I have not found anything. All the debts are paid,
and the drawers and closets are empty.*

" * We are sorry for you, Anna Lisa,' said Beeren-
creutz.

" ' When the major's wife left Ekeby,' continued
Anna Lisa, * she told me to see after her house.
And if I had found father's money, I would have
built up Ekeby. But as I did not find anything else
to take away with me, I took father's shame heap ; for
great shame awaits me when my mistress comes
again and asks me what I have done with Ekeby.'

" * Don't take so much to heart what is not your
fault, Anna Lisa,' said Beerencreutz again.

" ' But I did not take the shame heap for myself
alone,* said Anna Lisa. * I took it also for your
reckoning, good gentlemen. Father is not the only
one who has been the cause of shame and injury in
this world.'

" And she went from one to the other of them, and
laid down some of the dry sticks before each. Some
of them swore, but most of them let her go on. At
last Beerencreutz said, calmly: —

" * It is well. We thank you. You may go now.'
When she had gone, he struck the table with his
clenched hand till the glasses rang.

"'From this hour,* he said, 'absolutely sober.
Brandy shall never again cause me such shame.'
Thereupon he rose and went out.

THE FOREST COTTAGE 451

"They followed him by degrees, all the others.
Do you know where they went, Gosta? Well, down
to the river, to the point where the mill and the forge
had stood, and there they began to work. They be-
gan to drag away the logs and stones and clear the
place. The old men have had a hard time. Many
of them have had sorrow. Now they can no longer
bear the disgrace of having ruined Ekeby. I know
too well that you pensioners are ashamed to work ;
but now the others have taken that shame on them.
Moreover, Gosta, they mean to send Anna Lisa up
to the major's wife to bring her home. But you,
what are you doing?"

He found still an answer to give her.

"What do you want of me, of a dismissed priest?
Cast off by men, hateful to God ? "

" I too have been in the Bro church to-day, Gosta.
I have a message to you from two women. *Tell
Gosta,' said Marianne Sinclair, ' that a woman does
not like to be ashamed of him she has loved.' * Tell
Gosta,' said Anna Stjarnhok, *that all is now well
with me. I manage my own estates. I do not think
of love, only of work. At Berga too they have con-
quered the first bitterness of their sorrow. But we
all grieve for Gosta. We believe in him and pray
for him; but when, when will he be a man?'

"Do you hear? Are you cast off by men?" con-
tinued the countess. " Your misfortune is that you
have been met with too much love. Women and
men have loved you. If you only jested and laughed,,
if you only sang and played, they have forgiven
you everything. Whatever it has pleased you to
do has seemed right to them. And you dare to call
yourself an outcast! Or are you hateful to God?

452 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

Why did you not stay and see Caprain Lennart's
burial?

" As he had died on a Fair day, his fame had gone
far and wide. After the service, thousands of people
came up to the church. The funeral procession was
formed by the town hall. They were only waiting
for the old dean. He was ill and had not preached;
but he had promised to come to Captain Lennart's
funeral. And at last he came, with head sunk on his
breast, and dreaming his dreams, as he is wont to do
now in his old age, and placed himself at the head of
the procession. He noticed nothing unusual. He
walked on the familiar path and did not look up.
He read the prayers, and threw the earth on the
coffin, and still noticed nothing. But then the sex-
ton began a hymn. Hundreds and hundreds of
voices joined in. Men, women, and children sang.
Then the dean awoke from his dreams. He passed
his hand over his eyes and stepped up on the mound
of earth to look. Never had he seen such a crowd
of mourners. All were singing; all had tears in
their eyes, — all were mourning.

" Then the old dean began to tremble. What
should he say to these people ? He must say a word
to comfort them.

" When the song ceased, he stretched out his arms
over the people.

" * I see that you are mourning,' he said ; * and sor-
row is heavier to bear for one who has long to live
than for me who will soon be gone.'

** He stopped dismayed. His voice was too weak,
and words failed him.

" But he soon began again. His voice had regained
its youthful strength, and his eyes glowed.

THE FOREST COTTAGE 453

^* First, he told all he knew of God's wayfarer. Then
he reminded us that no outward polish nor great
ability had made that man so honored as he now
was, but only that he had always followed God's
ways. And now he asked us to do the same. Each
should love the other, and help him. Each should
think well of the other. And he explained every-
thing which had happened this year. He said it
was a preparation for the time of love and happiness
which now was to be expected.

" And we all felt as if we had heard a prophet speak.
All wished to love one another; all wished to be
good.

" He lifted his eyes and hands and proclaimed peace
in the neighborhood. Then he called on a helper
for the people. * Some one will come,* he said. * It
is not God's will that you shall perish. God will find
some one who will feed the hungry and lead you in
His ways.'

" Then we ail thought of you, Gosta. We knew
that the dean spoke of you. The people who had
heard your message went home talking of you.
And you wandered here in the wood and wanted
to die ! The people are waiting for you, Gosta. In
all the cottages they are sitting and saying that, as
the mad priest at Ekeby is going to help them, all
will be well. You are their hero, Gosta.

" Yes, Gosta, it is certain that the old man meant
you, and that ought to make you want to live.
But I, Gosta, who am your wife, I say to you that
you shall go and do your duty. You shall not
dream of being sent by God, — any one can be that.
You shall work without any heroics ; you shall not
shine and astonish; you shall so manage that your

454 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

name is not too often heard on the people's lips.
But think well before you take back your promise
to Sintram. You have now got a certain right to
die, and life ought not to offer you many attractions.
There was a time when my wish was to go home to
Italy, Gosta. It seemed too much happiness for me,
a sinner, to be your wife, and be with you through
life. But now I shall stay. If you dare to live, I
shall stop; but do not await any joy from that. I
shall force you to follow the weary path of duty.
You need never expect words of joy or hope from
me. Can a heart which has suffered like mine love
again? Tearless and joyless I shall walk beside you.
Think well, Gosta, before you choose to live. We
shall go the way of penance."

She did not wait for his answer. She nodded to
Anna Lisa and went. When she came out into the
wood, she began to weep bitterly, and wept until she
reached Ekeby. Arrived there, she remembered
that she had forgotten to talk of gladder things than
war to Jan Hok, the soldier.

In the cottage there was silence when she was
gone.

" Glory and honor be to the Lord God ! " said the
old soldier, suddenly.

They looked at him. He had risen and was look-
ing eagerly about him.

" Wicked, wicked has everything been," he said
'* Everything I have seen since I got my eyes
opened has been wicked. Bad men, bad women!
Hate and anger in forest and plain! But she is
good. A good woman has stood in my house.
When I am sitting here alone, I shall remember her.
She shall be with me in the wood."

THE FOREST COTTAGE 455

He bent down over Gosta, untied his fetters, and
lifted him up. Then he solemnly took his hand.

" Hateful to God," he said and nodded. " That is
just it. But now you are not any more ; nor I either,
since she has been in my house. She is good."

The next day old Jan Hok came to the bailiff
Scharling. " I will carry my cross," he said. " I
have been a bad man, therefore I have had bad
sons." And he asked to be allowed to go to prison
instead of his son ; but that could not be.

The best of old stories is the one which tells of
how he followed his son, walking beside the prison
van ; how he slept outside his cell ; how he did not
forsake him until he had suffered his punishment.

4S6 THE STORY OF COSTA BERUNC^

CHAPTER XXIII

MARGARETA CELSING

A FEW days before Christmas the major's wife started
on her journey down to the Lofsjo district; but it
was not till Christmas Eve that she came to Ekeby.
During the whole journey she was ill. Yet, in spite
of cold and fever, people had never seen her in better
spirits nor heard her speak more friendly words.

The Broby clergyman's daughter, who had been
with her in the Alfdal forests ever since October, sat
by her side in the sledge and wished to hasten the
journey ; but she could not prevent the old woman
from stopping the horses and calling every wayfarer
up to her to ask for news.

"How is it with you all here in Lofsjo?" she
asked.

" All is well," was the answer. " Better times are
coming. The mad priest there at Ekeby and his
wife help us all."

"A good time has come," answered another.
" Sintram is gone. The Ekeby pensioners are work-
ing. The Broby clergyman's money is found in the
Bro church-tower. There is so much that the glory
and power of Ekeby can be restored with it. Ther6
is enough too to get bread for the hungry."

*' Our old dean has waked to new life and strength,"
said a third. '* Every Sunday he speaks to us of the
coming of the Kingdom of God. "

MARGARETA CELSING 457

And the major's wife drove slowly on, asking every
one she met: " How is it here? Do you not suffer
from want here?"

And the fever and the stabbing pain in her breast
were assuaged, when they answered her : " There
are two good and rich women here, Marianne Sinclair
and Anna Stjarnhok. They help Gosta Berling to
go from house to house and see that no one is starv-
ing. And no more brandy is made now."

It was as if the major s wife had sat in the sledge
and listened to a long divine service. She had come
to a blessed land. She saw old, furrowed faces
brighten, when they spoke of the time which had
come. The sick forgot their pains to tell of the day
of joy.

" We all want to be like the good Captain I^nnart,"
they said. " We all want to be good. We want to
believe good of every one. We will not injure any
one. It shall hasten the coming of God's Kingdom."

She found them all filled with the same spirit On
the larger estates free dinners were given to those
who were in greatest need. All who had work to be
done had it done now.

She had never felt in better health than when she
sat there and let the cold air stream into her aching
breast. She could not drive by a single house with-
out stopping and asking.

** Everything is well," they all said. " There was
great distress, but the good gentlemen from Ekeby
help us. You will be surprised at everything which
has been done there. The mill is almost ready, and
the smithy is at work, and the burned-down house
ready for the roof."

Ah, it would only last a short time ! But still it

458 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

was good to return to a land where they all helped
one another and all wished to do good. The major's
wife felt that she could now forgive the pensioners,
and she thanked God for it.

" Anna Lisa/' she said, " I feel as if I had already
come into the heaven of the blessed.''

When she at last reached Ekeby, and the pensioners
hurried to help her out of the sledge, they could
hardly recognize her, for she was as kind and gentle
as their own young countess. The older ones, who
had seen her as a young girl, whispered to one
another : " It is not the major's wife at Ekeby ; it is
Margareta Celsing who has come back."

Great was the pensioners' joy to see her come so
kind and so free from all thoughts of revenge ; but it
was soon changed to grief when they found how ill
she was. She had to be carried immediately into
the guest-room in the wing, and put to bed. But on
the threshold she turned and spoke to them.

" It has been God's storm," she said, — ** God's
storm. I know now that it has all been for the
best ! "

Then the door to the sick-room closed, and they
never saw her again.

There is so much to say to one who is dying.
The words throng to the lips when one knows that
in the next room lies one whose ears will soon be
closed for always. " Ah, my friend, my friend," one
wants to say, ** can you forgive? Can you believe
that I have loved you in spite of everything ! Ah,
my friend, thanks for all the joy you have given
me!"

That will one say and so much, much more.

But the major's wife lay in a burning fever, and

MARGARETA CELSING 459

the voices of the pensioners could not reach her.
Would she never know how they had worked, how
they had taken up her work?

After a little while the pensioners went down to
the smithy. There all work was stopped ; but they
threw new coal and new ore into the furnace, and
made ready to smelt. They did not call the smith,
who had gone home to celebrate Christmas, but
worked themselves at the forge. If the major's wife
could only live until the hammer got going, it would
tell her their story.

Evening came and then night, while they worked.
Several of them thought, how strange it was that
they should again celebrate the night before Christ-
mas in the smithy.

Kevenhiiller, who had been the architect of the
mill and .the smithy, and Christian Bergh stood by
the forge and attended to the melting iron. Gosta
and Julius were the stokers. Some of the others sat
on the anvil under the raised hammer, and others sat
on coal-carts and piles of pig-iron. Lowenborg was
talking to Eberhard, the philosopher, who sat beside
him on the anvil.

" Sintram dies to-night,** he said.

" Why just to-night? ** asked Eberhard.

" You know that we made an agreement last year.
Now we have done nothing which has been ungentle-
manly, and therefore he has lost."

" You who believe in such things know very well
that we have done a great deal which has been un-
gentlemanly. First, we did not help the major's
wife; second, we began to work; third, it was not
quite right that Gosta Berling did not kill himself,
when he had promised."

46o THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

" I have thought of that too," answered Lowen-
borg ; " but my opinion is, that you do not rightly
comprehend the matter. To act with the thought of
our own mean advantage was forbidden us ; but not to
act as love or honor or our own salvation demanded.
I think that Sintram has lost"

" Perhaps you are right"

" I tell you that I know it I have heard his sleigh-
bells the whole evening, but they are not real bells.
We shall soon have him here."

And the little old man sat and stared through the
smithy door, which stood open, out at the bit of blue
sky studded with stars which showed through it

After a little while he started up.

"Do you see him?" he whispered. "There he
comes creeping. Do you not see him in the door-
way?"

" I see nothing," replied Eberhard. " You are
sleepy, that is the whole story."

" I saw him so distinctly against the sky. He had
on his long wolfskin coat and fur cap. Now he is
over there in the dark, and I cannot see him. Look,
now he is up by the furnace. He is standing close
to Christian Bergh ; but Christian seems not to see
him. Now he is bending down and is throwing
something into the fire. Oh, how wicked he looks !
Take care, friends, take care ! "

As he spoke, a tongue of flame burst out of the
furnace, and covered the smiths and their assistants
with cinders and sparks. No one, however, was
injured.

" He wants to be revenged," whispered Lowenborg.

" You too are mad ! " cried Eberhard. " You
ought to have had enough of such things."

MARGARETA CELSING 461

I" Do you not see how he is standing there by the
prop and grinning at us? But. verily, I believe that
he has unfastened the hammer."

He started up and dragged Eberhard with him.
The second after the hammer fell thundering down
onto the anvil. It was only a clamp which had given
way; but Eberhard and Lowenborg had narrowly
escaped death.

"You see that he has no power over us," said
^■Lowenborg, triumphantly, "But it is plain that he
^Kwants to be revenged."
^F And he called Gosta Berling to him.

"Go up to the women, Gosta. Perhaps he will
show himself to them too. They are not so used as
I to seeing such things. They may be frightened.
And take care of yourself, Gosta, for he has a special
grudge against you, and perhaps he has power over
you on account of that promise."

Afterwards they heard that Lowenborg had been
right, and that Sintram had died that night. Some
said that he had hanged himself in his cell. Others
believed that the servants of justice secretly had him
killed, for the trial seemed to be going well for him,
and it would never do to let him out again among .
the people in Lofsjd. Still others thought that a
dark visitor had driven up in a black carriage, drawn
by black horses, and had taken him out of prison.
And Lowenborg was not the only one who saw him
that night. He was also seen at Fors and in Ulrika
Dinner's dreams. Many told how he had shown
himself to them, until Ulrika Dillner moved his body
to the Bro churchyard. She also had the evil ser-
vants sent away from Fors and introduced there good
f [Order. After that it was no longer haunted.

462 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

It is said that before Gosta Berling reached the
house, a stranger had come to the wing and had left
a letter for the major's wife. No one knew the mes-
senger, but the letter was carried in and laid on the
table beside the sick woman. Soon after she became
unexpectedly better; the fever decreased, the pain
abated, and she was able to read the letter.

The old people believe that her improvement de-
pended on the influence of the powers of darkness.
Sintram and his friends would profit by the reading
of that letter.

It was a contract written in blood on black paper.
The pensioners would have recognized it. It was
composed on the last Christmas Eve in the smithy at
Ekeby.

And the major's wife lay there now and read that
since she had been a witch, and had sent pensioners'
souls to hell, she was condemned to lose Ekeby.
That and other similar absurdities she read. She
examined the date and signatures, and found the
following note beside Gosta's name : " Because the
major's wife has taken advantage of my weakness to
tempt me away from honest work, and to keep me as
pensioner at Ekeby, because she has made me Ebba
Dohna's murderer by betraying to her that I am a
dismissed priest, I sign my name."

The major's wife slowly folded the paper and put
it in its envelope. Then she lay still and thought
over what she had learned. She understood with
bitter pain that such was the people's thought of her.
She was a witch and a sorceress to all those whom
she had served, to whom she had given work and
bread. This was her reward. They could not be-
lieve anything better of an adulteress.

MARGARETA CELSING 463

Her thoughts flew. Wild anger and a longing for
revenge flamed up in her fever-burning brain. She
had Anna Lisa, who with Countess Elizabeth tended
her, send a message to Hogfors to the manager and
overseer. She wished to make her will.

Again she lay thinking. Her eyebrows were drawn
together, her features were terribly distorted by
suffering.

" You are very ill," said the countess, softly.

" Yes, more ill than ever before."

There was silence again, but then the major's wife
spoke in a hard, harsh voice : —

"It is strange to think that you, too, countess,
you whom every one loves, are an adulteress."

The young woman started.

" Yes, if not in deed, yet in thoughts and desire,
and that makes no diflerence. I who lie here feel
that it makes no diflerence."

" I know it 1 "

** And yet you are happy now. You may possess
him you loved without sin. That black spectre does
not stand between you when you meet. You may
belong to one another before the world, love one
another, go side by side through life."

" Oh, madame, madame ! "

" How can you dare to stay with him?" cried the
old woman, with increasing violence. " Repent, re-
pent in time ! Go home to your father and mother,
before they come and curse you. Do you dare to
consider Gosta Berling your husband ? Leave him !
I shall give him Ekeby. I shall give him power and
glory. Do you dare to share that with him ? Do
you dare to accept happiness and honor? I did not
dare to. Do you remember what happened to me?

464 THE STORY OF GOSTA BE RUNG

Do you remember the Christmas dinner at Ekeby?
Do you remember the cell in the bailiff's house ? "

*• Oh, madame, we sinners go here side by side
without happiness. I am here to see that no joy
shall find a home by our hearth. Do you think
I do not long for my home? Oh, bitterly do I long
for the protection and support of home ; but I shall
never again enjoy them. Here I shall live in fear
and trembling, knowing that everything I do leads
to sin and sorrow, knowing that if I help one, I ruin
another. Too weak and foolish for the life here, and
yet forced to live it, bound by an everlasting penance."

** With such thoughts we deceive our hearts," cried
the major's wife ; ** but it is weakness. You will not
leave him, that is the only reason."

Before the countess could answer, Gosta Berling
came into the room.

" Come here, Gosta," said the major's wife instantly,
and her voice grew still sharper and harder. ** Come
here, you whom everybody praises. You shall now
hear what has happened to your old friend whom you
allowed to wander about the country, despised and
forsaken.

"I will first tell you what happened last spring,
when I came home to my mother, for you ought to
know the end of that story.

"In March I reached the iron-works in the Alfdal
forest, Gosta. Little better than a beggar I looked.
They told me that my mother was in the dairy. So I
went there, and stood for a long while silent at the door.
There were long shelves round about the room, and
on them stood shining copper pans filled with milk.
And my mother, who was over ninety years old, took
down pan after pan and skimmed off the cream. She

MARGARETA CELSING 465

was active enough, the old woman ; but I saw well
enough how hard it was for her to straighten up her
back to reach the pans. I did not know if she had
seen me ; but after a while she spoke to me in a
curious, shrill voice.

" * So everything has happened to you as I wished,'
she said. I wanted to speak and to ask her to forgive
me, but it was a waste of trouble. She did not hear
a word of it, — she was stone-deaf. But after a while
she spoke again : * You can come and help me,' she
said.

" Then I went in and skimmed the milk. I took the
pans in order, and put everything in its place, and
skimmed just deep enough, and she was pleased. She
had never been able to trust any of the maids to skim
the milk ; but I knew of old how she Hked to have it.

" * Now you can take charge of this work,' she said.
And then I knew that she had forgiven me.

** And afterwards all at once it seemed as if she
could not work any more. She sat in her arm-chair
and slept almost all day. She died two weeks before
Christmas. I should have liked to have come before,
Gosta, but I could not leave her."

She stopped. She began to find breathing difficult ;
but she made an effort and went on : —

" It is true, Gosta, that I wished to keep you near
me at Ekeby. There is something about you which
makes every one rejoice to be with you. If you had
shown a wish to be a settled man, I would have given
you much power. I always hoped that you would
find a good wife. First, I thought that it would be
Marianne Sinclair, for I saw that she loved you al-
ready, when you lived as wood-cutter in the wood.
Then I thought that it would be Ebba Dohna, and

30

466 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

one day I drove over to Borg and told her that if she
would have you for husband, I would leave you
Ekeby in my will. If I did wrong in that, you must
forgive me."

Gosta was kneeling by the bed with his face hidden
in the blankets, and was moaning bitterly.

" Tell me, Gosta, how you mean to live? How shall
you support your wife? Tell me that You know that
I have always wished you well." And Gosta answered
her smiling, while his heart almost burst with pain.

" In the old days, when I tried to be a laborer here
at Ekeby, you gave me a cottage to live in, and it is
still mine. This autumn I have put it quite in order.
Lowenborg has helped me, and we have whitewashed
the ceilings and hung the walls with paper and
painted them. The inner little room Lowenborg calls
the countess's boudoir, and he has gone through all the
farm-houses round about for furniture, which has come
there from manor-house auctions. He has bought
them, so that there we have now high-backed arm-
chairs and chests of drawers with shining mountings.
But in the outer big room stands the young wife's
weaving-loom and my lathe. Household utensils and
all kinds of things are there, and there Lowenborg
and I have already sat many evenings and talked of
how the young countess and I will have it in the
cottage. But my wife did not know it till now.
We wanted to tell her when we should leave Ekeby."

" Go on, Gosta."

"Lowenborg was always saying that a maid was
needed in the house. * In the summer it is lovely
here in the birch grove,* he used to say ; * but in winter
it will be too lonely for the young wife. You will
have to have a maid, Gosta.*.

MARGARETA CELSING 467

" And I agreed with him, but I did not know how I
could afford to keep one. Then he came one day
and carried down his music, and his table with the
painted keyboard, and put it in the cottage. * It is
you, Lowenborg, who are going to be the maid,' I said
to him. He answered that he would be needed. Did I
mean the young countess to cook the food, and to
carry wood and water? No, I had not meant her
to do anything at all, as long as I had a pair of arms
to work with. But he still thought that it would be
best if there were two of us, so that she might sit the
whole day on her sofa and embroider. I could never
know how much waiting upon such a little woman
needed, he said."

" Go on," said the major's wife. " It eases my
pain. Did you think that your young countess
would be willing to live in a cottage?"

He wondered at her scornful tone, but continued :

" No, I did not dare to think it ; but it would have
been so perfect if she had been willing. It is thirty
miles from any doctor. She, who has a light hand
and a tender heart, would have had work enough to
tend wounds and allay fevers. And I thought that
everybody in trouble would find the way to the lady
mistress in the forest cottage. There is so much
distress among the poor which kind words and a
gentle heart can help."

" But you yourself, Gosta Berling? "

" I shall have my work at the carpenter's bench
and lathe. I shall hereafter live my own life. If my
wife will not follow me, I cannot help it. If some
one should offer me all the riches of the universe,
it would not tempt me. I want to live my own life.
Now I shall be and remain a poor man among the

468 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERUNG

peasants, and help them with whatever I can. They
need some one to play the polka for them at wed-
dings and at Christmas; they need some one to
write letters to their distant sons, — and that some one
I will be. But I must be poor."

" It will be a gloomy life for you, Gosta."

" Oh, no, it would not be if we were but two who
kept together. The rich and happy would come to
us as well as the poor. It would be gay enough in
our cottage. Our guests would not care if the food
was cooked right before their eyes, or be shocked
that two must eat from the same plate."

"And what would be the good of it all, Gosta?
What praise would you win ? "

** Great would be my reward if the poor would
remember me for a year or two after my death. I
should have done some good if I had planted a
couple of apple-trees at the house-corners, if I had
taught the country fiddlers some of the old tunes, and
if the shepherd children could have learnt a few good
songs to sing in the wood-paths.

" You can believe me, I am the same mad Gosta
Berling that I was before. A country fiddler is all
I can be, but that is enough. I have many sins to
atone for. To weep and to repent is not for me. I
shall give the poor pleasure, that is my penance."

** Gosta," said the major's wife, " it is too humble
a life for a man with your powers. I will give you
Ekeby."

** Oh," he cried in terror, " do not make me rich !
Do not put such duties upon me ! Do not part me
from the poor ! "

" I will give Ekeby to you and the pensioners,"
repeated the major's wife. ** You are a capable man,

MARGARETA CELSING 469

Gosta, whom the people bless. I say like my
mother, * You shall take charge of this work ! * "

** No, we could not accept it, — we who have mis-
judged you and caused you such pain ! "

" I will give you Ekeby, do you hear?"

She spoke bitterly and harshly, without kindness.
He was filled with dismay.

** Do not tempt the old men ! It would only make
them idlers and drunkards again. God in Heaven,
rich pensioners ! What would become of us ! "

" I will give you Ekeby, Gosta ; but then you must
promise to set your wife free. Such a delicate little
woman is not for you. She has had to suffer too much
here in the land of the bear. She is longing for her
bright native country. You shall let her go. That
is why I give you Ekeby."

But then Countess Elizabeth came forward to the
major's wife and knelt by the bed.

" I do not long any more. He who is my husband
has solved the problem, and found the life I can live.
No longer shall I need to go stern and cold beside
him, and remind him of repentance and atonement.
Poverty and want and hard work will do that. The
paths which lead to the poor and sick I can follow
without sin. I am no longer afraid of the life here
in the north. But do not make him rich ; then I do
not dare to stay. "

The major's wife raised herself in the bed.

"You demand happiness for yourselves," she
cried, and threatened them with clenched fists, —
"happiness and blessing. No, let Ekeby be the
pensioners', that they may be ruined. Let man and
wife be parted, that they may be ruined ! I am a
witch, I am a sorceress, I shall incite you to evil-
doing. I shall be what my reputation is."

470 THE STORY OF GOSTA BERLING

She seized the letter and flung it in Gosta's face.
The black paper fluttered out and fell on the floor.
Gosta knew it too well.

" You have sinned against me, Gosta. You have
misjudged one who has been a second mother to you.
Do you dare to refuse your punishment ? You shall
accept Ekeby, and it shall ruin you, for you are
weak. You shall send home your wife, so that
there will be no one to save you. You shall die
with a name as hated as mine. Margareta Celsing's
obituary is that of a witch. Yours shall be that of
a spendthrift and an oppressor of the poor."

She sank back on the pillows, and all was still.
Through the silence rang a muffled blow, now one
and then another. The sledge-hammer had begun
its far-echoing work.

" Listen," said Gosta Berling, " so sounds Margareta
Celsing's obituary! That is not a prank of dnmken
pensioners ; that is the song of the victory of labor,
raised in honor of a good, old worker. Do you hear
what the hammer says ? ' Thanks, ' it says ; * thanks
for good work; thanks for bread, which you have
given the poor; thanks for roads, which you have
opened; thanks for districts, which you have culti-
vated! Thanks for pleasure, with which you have
filled your halls ! ' — ' Thanks, ' it says, * and sleep
in peace! Your work shall live and continue.
Your house shall always be a home for happy labor. '
— * Thanks, ' it says, ' and do not judge us who have
sinned ! You who are now starting on the journey
to the regions of peace, think gentle thoughts of us
who still live. ' "

Gosta ceased, but the sledge-hammer went on
speaking. All the voices which had ever spoken

MARGARETA CELSING 47 1

kindly to the major's wife were mingled with the ring
of the hammer. Gradually her features relaxed, as
if the shadow of death had fallen over her.

Anna Lisa came in and announced that the gentle-
men from Hogfors had come. The major's wife let
them go. She would not make any will.

"Oh, Gosta Berling, man of many deeds," she
said, "so you have conquered once more. Bend
down and let me bless you!"

The fever returned with redoubled strength. The
death-rattle began. The body toiled through dreary
suffering; but the spirit soon knew nothing of it.
It began to gaze into the heaven which is opened
for the dying.

So an hour passed, and the short death-struggle
was over. She lay there so peaceful and beautiful
that those about her were deeply moved.

"My dear old mistress," said Gosta, "so have I
seen you once before. Now has Margareta Celsing
come back to life. Now she will never again yield
to the major's wife at Ekeby."

When the pensioners came in from the forge, they
were met by the news of Margareta Celsing' s death.

" Did she hear the hammer 1 " they asked.

She had done so, and they could be satisfied.

They heard, too, that she had meant to give Ekeby
to them; but that the will had never been drawn.
That they considered a great honor, and rejoiced over
it as long as they lived. But no one ever heard
them lament over the riches they had lost.

It is also said that on that Christmas night Gosta
Berling stood by his young wife's side and made his
last speech to the pensioners. He was grieved at

472 THE STORY OF COSTA BERLING

their fate when they now must all leave Ekeby.
The ailments of old age awaited them. The old and
worn-out find a cold welcome.

And so he spoke to them. Once more he called
them old gods and knights who had risen up to
bring pleasure into the land of iron. But he lamented
that the pleasure garden where the butterfly-winged
pleasure roves is filled with destructive caterpillars,
and that its fruits are withered.

Well he knew that pleasure was a good to the
children of the earth, and it must exist. But, like a
heavy riddle, the question always lay upon the world,
how a man could be both gay and good. The easiest
thing and yet the hardest, he called it. Hitherto
they had not been able to solve the problem. Now
he wanted to believe that they had learned it, that
they had all learned it during that year of joy and
sorrow, of happiness and despair.

You dear old people ! In the old days you gave
me precious gifts. But what have I given you.?

Perhaps it may gladden you that your names sound
again in connection with the dear old places.? May
all the brightness which belonged to your life fall
again over the tracts where you have lived ! Borg
still stands; Bjorne still stands; Ekeby still lies by
lake Lofven, surrounded by falls and lake, by park
and smiling meadows; and when one stands on the
broad terraces, legends swarm about one like the
bees of summer.

But, speaking of bees, let me tell one more old
story. The little Ruster, who went as a drummer
at the head of the Swedish army, when in 1813 it
pjarched into Germany, could never weary of telling

MARGARETA CELSING 473

stories of that wonderful land in the south. The
people there were as tall as church towers, the
swallows were as big as eagles, the bees as geese.

"Well, but the bee-hives?"

"The bee-hives were like our ordinary bee-hives."

" How did the bees get in t "

"Well, that they had to look out for," said the
little Ruster.

Dear reader, must I say the same.? The giant
bees of fancy have now swarmed about us for a year
and a day ; but how they are going to come into the
bee-hive of fact, that they really must find out for
themselves.

THE END

i

.f

It

- 1

I.

1 1

■ r

\^-

1-

19

THE BORROWER WILL BE CHARGED
AN OVERDUE FEE IF THIS BOOK IS
NOT RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY ON
OR BEFORE THE LAST DATE STAMPED
BELOW. NON-RECEIPT Of OVERDUE
NOTICES DOES >»OT EXEMPT THE
BORAWER FRM^OVERDUE FEES.

4